


From My Heart and from My Hand

by SpiffyRicky



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - 1930s Black Forest Germany, Alternate Universe - Frankenstein (Mary Shelley), Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Kink, Body snatching, Brat Rey, But hey also a really nice sunrise, But more like Alternate Universe - Frankenstein (1931 film), Campy, Contactless ritualistic group bathing mmm, Corpse Desecration, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dark fic, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death Rituals, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dry Humping, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Science, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation Kink you'll like it I swear I'll make you, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Feral Goddess Rey, Girl Power, God Complex, Groveling Assistant Hux, Halloween, Horror Erotica, Knifeplay, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is a fucking creep, Mad Scientist Kylo, Maker Kink, Maker Kink it’s like a Daddy Kink but with way more delusion, Medical Kink, Mind Control, Monster Rey, Murder, Naked Female Clothed Male, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Oedipal Issues, Opposite of a Praise Kink, Opposite of a Praise Kink she's a bad girl and they're both into it, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PTP Plot Through Porn, Power Bottom, Power Imbalance, Public Sex, Racially Ambiguous Rey, Religious Cults, Religious Fanaticism, Restraints, Rey is his worst nightmare and he's so here for it, Reyloween, Rim job, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Scared Dom Kylo, Sex Magic, Size Kink, Somnophilia, Tiddy tiddy tiddy time, Train Sex, Trouser Snakes on a Train, Vaguely fascist undertones, Violence, grave robbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26658691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiffyRicky/pseuds/SpiffyRicky
Summary: Rey wakes up trapped in the laboratory of mad scientist Kylo Ren, who has discovered the secret of reanimation of the dead. Once he proves his theories, the world will tremble at the power of his fingertips. He enlists Rey, against her will, to help him, but he soon finds that he has met his match in her.Kylo ignored her struggling, bearing his chest down on her back, eclipsing her, forcing her against the window until her forehead touched the glass again.Rey felt like some kind of malevolent goddess: all those men below, and none of them mattered. All that mattered was getting what she wanted. And he was giving it to her. She fucked herself on the object in his hand.“What is that?” she panted.“You don’t care. You want it. You’ll take it.” His mouth was sucking on the spot right behind her earlobe. She was coming apart. “You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you? I can do anything I want with you.”
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 131
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MalevolentReverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/gifts).



> Welcome to whatever this is! Please mind the tags. 
> 
> This fic is in honor of [MalevolentReverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie), whose writing is bold, subtle, and confusingly hot. An inspiration to us all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There is pseudo-necrophilia in this chapter. There is no dead body, but he thinks she’s dead, and touches her sexually. It’s also non-consensual, and she enjoys it, and she doesn’t like that she enjoys it. Please don’t read if you think that would upset you in a way that you don’t want.

She came to gradually, not realizing at first that this fuzzy drowsiness was consciousness. A long, thick hand was stroking her hair, intently, not gently, and shaking hard like he was trying not to give in to something. His voice was shaky too, and male, impossibly deep, murmuring as he loomed over her, “The empty vessel of life to come. More sacred than any living thing.”

She was naked. And cold, though not shivering, and whatever she was lying on was even colder than she was. The hot pink of her eyelids told her that a bright light shone directly overhead. He was whispering now, and it was hard to separate his rumble from the cold electric buzzing that filled the room. He sounded insistent, like he meant whatever he was saying, but recalcitrant, like he knew he shouldn’t be saying it.

She’d been stuck in enough bad situations that she knew to stay as still as possible and pretend it wasn’t happening until she could figure out a way out. And who he was. And how she’d gotten here. He kept brushing his hand over her scalp, again and again, grazing the skin along her hairline and behind her ear, but always briefly, like he might get caught. So at least he didn’t know she was awake. They were never as bad if they thought you were asleep. It made them gentler. Not gentle, but gentler.

He ran his clammy hands down the outsides of her arms, then back up to her shoulders and down again, back up and down again, moving closer each time, until he was stroking the sensitive insides of her arms. It was hard to stay still, to not scream, to not react. The strength he was restraining was obvious from the drag of his fingers. She was afraid even of breathing.

His breath hitched, then his hands were gone. She heard a few heavy steps. Several feet away, metal objects of different weights clattered against each other. Opening her eyes was a risk she had to take. She peered out between her sticky eyelashes, lids parted fractionally.

He was huge, like she’d been afraid he was from the size of his hands. He stood before a cluttered metal counter covered in glass jars and open wooden boxes and tattered hand-bound notebooks. When she turned her head to the left she saw another wall, covered in dials and switches and levers and tubes. Wires were hanging out of everything, snaking around everywhere. She couldn’t tell if it was a laboratory or a torture dungeon. His hulking back was turned to her, clad in a long, dirty white smock hand-tied down his back to his waist, where it fell open to his knees. It was somehow too tight and too loose at the same time. Quilted black fabric showed in the gaps between the ties, fitted black pants beneath, and a chaos of black hair above. Thick muscles bunched in his shoulders as the clattering intensified.

She gripped the edge of what she was beginning to suspect was not a bed. It was cold, metal, flat, and curved under at the bottom. Not a bed, not a table, but a gurney. That was bad. And the clattering, and the buzzing, and the muttering. And the size of him. She looked around the rest of the room as much as she could without moving her head, knowing he could turn back around at any moment. It was all the same weird mess. There were lots of objects that would make decent weapons, but she was in the middle of the room, too far away to grab any of them.

When she saw him start to turn back towards her, she closed her eyes and let her hands go limp again. More clattering sounds and the vibration of the gurney told her that he was placing items down near her feet. Good. There had to be something there that she could jab into his eyes or his throat or his dick.

Then it was silent. She felt his looming presence at the foot of the gurney, and she felt his stare, like a weight, on her naked, outspread body. She knew what he wanted—what they always wanted. She waited, staying as still as she could, trying to make even her breathing motionless, willing her own body to not exist. The buzzing of the light filled and heightened the silence.

After too long, she heard his awkward smock rustle and felt something small, flat, and metal placed on her stomach. A bowl. His huge hands were on the tops of her thighs now, rubbing big circles there, getting dangerously close to making her have to do something. She didn’t know if she would though. It felt the opposite of ticklish, firm and deliberate, not so much an action as the promise of an action. It wasn’t just one buzzing sound, she realized, but a cacophony of different noises from different equipment all combining into one electric headache.

With a loud, shaky breath he moved down to her knees, fitting the rough pads of his fingers into the sensitive dimples behind them, rubbing along the delicate crease there. She wanted to scream. Her body wanted to squirm. He was in complete control and she didn’t know how to take it from him.

He lifted her knees up from underneath, pointing them to the ceiling so her soles lay flat on the cold metal gurney, and gently pushed her legs apart. His breath became ragged, his grip tight, his touch a physical weight. She was sore all over, body too aware, brain still dizzy. It felt like the buzzing was inside her. When he let go of her knees his hands hovered near them, as if to catch them if they couldn’t stay up on their own. She kept them how he had them. With a grunt of satisfaction he moved his hands to her hips, fondling the soft flesh there, the meat of her, fingers crawling underneath to cup her ass.

“You are going to pour a torrent of light into our dark world,” he sighed, palming her hips and squeezing and digging his nails into her. “You will bless me as your creator and your source.”

Then his terrifying hands left her, and she heard the snap of gloves being pulled on. A pressure dipped into the bowl on her abdomen, then lifted away. “But you’re nothing now,” he spat. “A shallow whore in a shallow pauper’s grave. You’re not even that.” She felt thick, cold, gloved fingers probe the folds of her labia and smear thick, cold gel there. “Poor little dead girl. So bad,” he cooed, “weren’t you? Rotten. But I’ll make you good.”

What did he know about her? And how?

He rubbed and swirled her sensitive flesh. His touch was clinical, but not dispassionate. “And so dirty. I had Hux clean you but that’s not enough, is it? I hope he didn’t get any ideas. Would you have liked it, if he did?” He dipped into the bowl again and spread more goop onto her vulva, too much, causing too much sensation—the chilled glide, the way it glopped and jiggled, the restrained strength in his fingers driving through it.

“How many men have been here before? You dirty girl. You didn’t care.” She felt him panting, hot on the inside of her knee. His fingers were moving a little faster, more rhythmically, but he didn’t touch her clit. He wasn’t trying to get her off, he was just doing what he wanted.

“But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine now. You’ll be what I make you. You’ll know what I teach you.” He was probing around her entrance, holding back but not hesitating, making himself wait, squeezing her puffy lips between his fingers, testing how she gaped for him, how wet she was for him. “I’m your Maker. Your god.” His breath was hard and hot and smelled like tea. She wanted to scream. She wanted to squirm. She wanted to know what his face looked like.

More pressure on her abdomen, then his gloved fingers were pushing the gel inside her. “Oh, you are bad,” he groaned. “You were made for this.” Two fingers thrusting slowly in and out, long, thick fingers, all the way in, almost all the way out, still not trying to get her off, just feeling her for himself. “Made for me. Made to be thrown away, so I could put you back together.” He gathered more from her folds and smeared it up inside her roughly. “You fucking whore. No one else can have you now. There is no you. I haven’t made you yet.”

She wasn’t a whore, she’d never seen a dime of that money. And she’d gotten away from Unkar as soon as she could. She made her own way. What did he think he knew? She suddenly remembered that she'd been rummaging in the graveyard before this. But how had she gotten here? 

He was thrusting hard now, slamming into her. She tried to keep her body limp. “You. Don’t. Exist!” The objects on the table, including the bowl on top of her, fell to the floor. He kicked them, hard, fingers still inside her, as he yowled, “They don’t care about you. They never wanted you. They sent you away!”

She could hear herself squelching around him. And a slapping sound now, of his hand on his dick. She was getting shoved up the table by the force of his fingers inside her, head bouncing, tits jiggling, gurney groaning. She tried to keep all movement involuntary, but he was jolting her up the table so hard that he was going to knock her off it. Her head lolled to the side, almost over the edge, jaw slack. Somehow she felt complicit.

“Oh my god, what if your head falls off,” he moaned. Slapping faster. Thrusting harder. “What if your head falls off.” She was not going to come to this fucked up shit. She focused on what he was doing to her, to stave it off. She was definitely going to come. Hard. There was nothing she could do. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix you. I’ll rip your fucking head off and fix it.” He thrust into her with every sweaty word. “I’m. Your. Maker.” There was nothing she could do. She started to come, cunt convulsing, ejecting his greedy fingers. Her body wanted to roll itself into a ball. It hurt. She didn’t want it. He’d been building her up so much, and now it all unwound. She whimpered and wailed. He looked up at her. When had she opened her eyes?

It took a moment for him to realize, and another to stop jerking off. He flew back from the table, eyes crazed, hair wild, mouth agape. He was a madman, thick black hair plastered to his pale sweaty forehead, red lips swollen, cheeks gaunt, undereyes bruised.

“I can’t have,” he said on a disbelieving breath. “Did I?” He held out his huge, dirty hands before him and stared at them in wonderment. “But I didn’t even do the procedure yet. I wasn’t even trying to—”

He looked up at her. Lifting her head off the table at an angle that hurt her neck, she stared back, finally taking loud, deep breaths. Coming down hard.

He scowled, then closed his eyes and screamed over his shoulder. “Hux! You impudent fuck!”

He thrust his right hand towards her, outstretched, fingers splayed, and—something happened. She couldn’t move. She was pinned like an insect, trembling, bug-eyed, neck still at that awkward angle. Helpless to do anything but stare as he circled the gurney.

At last he stood at her waist and looked down at her, his face a mask. He cupped his hand over her forehead, and he didn’t touch her, but she felt something being pulled from her.

Then he waved his fingers to the side, and everything was oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to talk about reading and writing. Your comments and feedback are welcome.
> 
> Here's a song to set the vibes for this chapter:  
> [Freak Heat Waves, "Dripping Visions"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkJHHyFXyMw)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: In this chapter, previous forced prostitution is implied. Non-sexual choking is also implied. There is no sex in this chapter, but everything that happens is non-consensual for Rey. 
> 
> No sex in this chapter, technically, but entering someone's mind is pretty sexual and intimate to me. 
> 
> Most importantly, Rey fights back! Eventually. Because we love you, but fuck you, Kylo.

“You piece of fucking shit, you piece of fucking shit Hux!” A slapping sound. “What did I tell you?”

“I’m—I’m sorry, Master!”

She wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious for this time. Two deep male voices spoke quietly but heatedly, not far from her. The second one was whiny and groveling. The first was that of the man who had touched her. He spoke again. “What did you do?”

“I brought you a body, like you asked for, Master.”

“But is it the body that I asked for? Bazine Netal, aged 25 years, prostitute, no diseases, vigorous constitution, no children, no family?”

Silence, then sniveling, and a loud thwack across the room. The sniveling got louder, though it came from farther away now.

“Who is on my dissection table, Hux?”

She was still naked, still cold, but something had been draped over her face and body. A winding sheet, she saw when she finally dared to open her eyes.

“I don’t know, Master.” The whiny voice choked.

“What do you know?”

“Can’t—breathe—”

“Yes you can.” The man with the powerful hands wasn’t speaking quietly anymore. 

“Girl—open grave—no dirt—saved some time—fresher—less rot—better for you—”

“Better for whom? Better for me?”

“Yes—”

Another thwack brought with it the sound of all kinds of objects cascading to the floor. “Not better for you?”

“Didn’t—well—didn’t think about that—your humble servant—”

“My lazy idiot piece of shit! Was she dead, Hux? Was she dead when you found her?”

The choking devolved into gurgling sounds.

Though she could open her eyes now without fear of being noticed, she still couldn’t see anything, and any bigger movements she made might be observed through the sheet. She was just as powerless as before. The only difference between then and now was the soreness between her legs and the hot, complicated, angry guilt swirling in her mind.

At last the gurgling subsided, and after some ugly, desperate gasps, the sniveler finally answered. “Of course it was dead.”

“Did you check?”

Silence.

“Did. You. Check? Hux.”

“Did—I suppose not. Didn’t take the pulse of the cadaver in the sepulcher, no.”

“Don’t you get imperious with me. I’ll slam your ass up on that wall again.”

“Did you take its pulse, Doctor?”

“. . . In a manner of speaking.” The man with the strong hands sighed. “And it’s not dead, Hux. It’s alive.”

“Good grief.”

“At first, for a moment, I thought I reanimated her.”

“Well you must have!”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“You weren’t trying the first time, either.”

“But this time I wasn’t using the life force when it happened.”

“What were you doing with the body, then?”

“. . . A preliminary exam. And who are you to ask me?”

“Master, I’m sure you’ve done it. You have proved your reanimation theory. And now we can move on.”

More thwacking of flesh against wall, and clanging of objects, and gurgling.

The strong voice boomed low. “Move on? What has been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation of the world is now within my grasp. And I should move on? You—” the sniveling man fell silent at the threat in his voice “—brought me a girl that wasn’t dead. Of unknown physical condition. That people might be looking for. And I should move on.”

Something slid to the floor.

“Get out.”

She heard panting breath, scrambled footsteps, and a heavy, creaky door opening and closing. She waited. Silence stretched on beneath the ceaseless electric buzzing.

Once she was sure she was alone, she stretched her stiff arms and legs, taking a deep breath at last. But when she rolled her shoulders back, the rising of her chest was stopped by something thick and hard, like the bar of a cage over her torso. The movement of her arms was restricted by similar bars over the ball of each shoulder, and she could move her hands, but not much: they were bound by the winding sheet, wrapped around her under the bars.

After all that she had been through in this room, to be more trapped than ever—she clawed at the sheet, making it gape around the edge of the gurney, sliding her hands out into the sterile air, bending her elbows back awkwardly, clutching at the closest folds of fabric she could get hold of, until finally her face was free.

She saw the room in full for the first time. Heavy chains suspended the gurney from the ceiling, and glass bulbs of all sizes hung in the air, filled with different liquids and filaments. A huge hydraulic pump dominated one corner. Machines with dials flickering and ticking cluttered the spaces between the metal counters lining the walls. And she saw thick metal bands, hoop restraints, looping over her body down to her ankles.

And at her feet she saw him, staring at her, eyes burning, lips pursed, hair crazed, wearing that same, dirty, too tight white smock.

“You think you’re smart?” he asked, coming closer. “You like playing dead?”

She didn’t say anything. The ache between her legs was reactivated by his deep voice directed at her. Fear mixed with something else.

“You thought I wouldn’t know?”

“Well you didn’t, did you?” she spat.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have touched you if I’d known you were alive.” His voice shook.

“Don’t talk about that.”

“Oh no? You don’t like that?”

“No, I didn’t like it. One bit.”

“Oh, you liked it. You just don’t like talking about it.” He smiled, more with his eyes than his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“You kidnapped me.”

“I don’t take living women.”

“I see. You only defile the dead,” she scoffed.

“You defiled yourself. How did you end up in a hole in the ground?”

“I don’t know.”

He prowled closer, to stand at her left shoulder. “You think people are looking for you?”

She hesitated. “Of course.”

“Oh? Who?”

“My . . . family. And my friends.”

He stared down at her, saying nothing.

“I have a lot of friends.” She squirmed. “Big family. They’re probably all out looking for me right now.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“They’re going to find me. They’re going to get me out of here.”

“Out of where?” He pulled the winding sheet further down, so she lay bare to her midriff. She raised her hands against him, as best she could with the shoulder restraints, but he slapped them back down. “Where do you think you are?”

She looked away, to the counter behind him. Organs floated in jars of formaldehyde, and bloated hand- and foot-shaped things. She turned back to see him smiling at her alarm.

“Who are you?” he asked, lazily tracing a half-circle underneath her clavicle with his fingers.

She gripped the flat metal bar over her hips. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“I’m asking.” He drew a slow line with his fingers down her sternum, between her breasts, to her abdomen. “So you do.”

She found herself struggling again not to squirm, not to let him see her react to his touch. She huffed. “Fine. I’m Rey.”

“Rey who?”

“Just Rey. No last name.”

He paused, his large, warm palm encompassing the triangle between her lower ribs. “Do you know who I am?”

She glared at him.

“No.” He wrinkled his brow. “You must be poor. And unimportant.”

“Get your hands off me.”

“Tell me your name.”

“I don’t have a last name.” She refused to look away from his eyes as she said it. Thick black hair hung around his impassioned face in waves. His part was jagged and unruly, just like the rest of him. “And if I ever did, I don’t know it.”

“I’m going to find out anyway. You may as well tell me.” He started moving his hand again, stroking languidly along her ribs and the spaces between them. His other hand he held behind his back. “You know I can take whatever I want,” he murmured, watching his fingers play upon her.

Rey shivered. “I don’t know about that.”

“No, you don’t know very much.”

She was silent.

He moved to the head of the table and bent his mouth down to her ear, looming over her. All she could see was his haughty face gazing down her exposed body, and his hand cupped towards her head again. Then came that feeling again, that something was being pulled inside her, things she couldn’t name being shoved and dragged and rearranged inside her mind.

“I see it,” he whispered. “You’re alone. The locked room. Faded, peeling wallpaper. Only locked to you, keeping you in.” She felt him lay a heavy arm alongside her on the gurney, not touching her, but almost.

“Men come to you. They pay money. You don’t see it.” He breathed in sharply and exhaled onto her ear. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” Her breath was coming hard. “You lie awake at night knowing what you did, what you do, is wrong.”

Rey lay very, very still, trying to be somewhere else, shaking with the effort. She refused to look at him but could feel his eyes roving over her.

“It’s not just the men. They’re gone. You’re still alone. Dirty. In the dirt, in the grave. In the dark. You hope nobody is coming.” His mouth was practically on her ear. She could feel the hot wetness of it.

“You’re reaching for something. Sweating. Digging.” He drummed his long fingers on the gurney down next to her thigh, making her feel the impact of his touch although he still did not touch her.

“Ah,” he sighed. His fingers stilled. “Scavenging.” He made it sound like a dirty word. “Another cemetery, and another, and another. Night after night you plunder graves for profit. You say you’re self-sufficient. Proud. But you think you can’t be any worse than you are.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“And maybe you’re right,” he said softly.

She wished he would touch her physically rather than mentally. Violate her body rather than her self. His fingers inside her hadn’t hurt like this. The place he thrust himself into now was her respite from all that, or it had been.

“Being used like a whore doesn’t make you bad, Rey. You poor girl.” His voice was dripping, trickling into her ear. She looked down, panting, watching him curl and clench his giant hand next to the gentle curve of her waist. “It’s what you did to get away from him that makes you bad. What you do to stay away. When you had a choice, you still didn’t choose to be good. You chose to lie and cheat and steal and hide. That's what makes you such a bad girl.” Something deep inside her clenched. She squeezed her legs together. 

“Get out of my head!” she grunted, finally looking up into the face floating above hers. His expression was compassionate and cruel and contemptuous. His eyes bored into hers, until she met them.

He stood up and came around to the side of the table to face her, raising his right arm and splaying his fingers towards her. His voice turned stern. “You’re going to give me your real name now.”

She clenched her teeth. “I’m not giving you anything.” She knew he couldn’t take her last name from her, since she didn’t know it herself. But she couldn’t let him have the fact that she didn’t know. She wanted him to think he hadn’t taken all that he could.

They stared each other down. Her head started to lift toward his hand involuntarily, until she pressed herself back into the gurney and flattened her shoulders. Whatever he had been doing to her she started doing back to him. She was digging into him and hurting him like he’d hurt her, enjoying it like he’d enjoyed it.

Suddenly, things snapped and shifted and she was leaning forward towards him, and he was tilting his body back away from her.

“I see your true name,” she hissed. “Ben.” She gasped in pain as she said it, but smiled. “You are afraid that you will never be Kylo Ren.”

He pulled away from her but couldn’t look away, staring, shocked, shaking, paler than ever. “I am your Maker!” he barked. “I am the one true resurrectionist. Kylo Ren is proof of that. You, too, will be a testament to my power.”

Kylo turned and strode from the room, knocking everything off the counters as he went, and kicking what fell in his path. Rey lay back on the gurney and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww poor Kywo ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Pretty Sick, "Warm Hands"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFhui9pgqPQ)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Just general ominousness. No non-con, no actual violence. 
> 
> No smut in this chapter, but there’s plenty of tension. And this will set up a smorgasbord of tasty tasty smut in the next chapter, I promise.
> 
> I am having so much fun writing this. Thank you to everyone reading along.

Rey awoke in a sunlit room of old stone walls and dark wooden furniture. Thick, heavy curtains were pulled back from the window and the four-poster bed she found herself in. A platter of food, congealed and odorless, sat on the nightstand. It looked like it had been delicious, which made her trust it even less than she had initially.

She pushed herself away from the pillows and threw off the stiff embroidered bedding. Time to fucking run. As she stood up, she realized that her hair had been washed and combed, and she had been dressed in a long, white, high-necked nightgown. It was disturbing. He was clearly a sick man.

She walked toward the curved wall with the window and looked out. Low mountains rolled softly by, covered in dark unbroken forest. They were still in the foothills then, though she didn’t see any signs of her village, or any roads. It was a foggy morning, and the blue hills in the distance swam out of the haze like they were bathing in milk. When she pressed her nose to the cold glass, she saw that she was high above the trees, in a round tower stretching down, far down, below.

Though she tried she couldn’t get the window open, of course. The door would be locked too. But he couldn’t keep her in here. She started searching for something to pick the lock with. A crammed but dusty bookshelf. A chest at the foot of the bed full of extra linens. A stuffy upholstered chair with a book on its seat, _Ruins of Empires_. None of it could help her. The drawers of the bureau were full of awful women’s clothing, all delicate buttons and dreadful lace. Nothing that wasn’t soft. Useless. Rey wanted to slam the drawers, but knew not to make a sound.

Finally, after digging around in the cold fireplace, she found a sliver of burnt wood that might work. She got down on her knees before the threshold and started to pick the lock, only to find it was already open. She had been free to leave the whole time. This, too, she distrusted even more than she had initially. She went back to the fireplace for a more substantial piece of wood, something more like a club, then slipped out the door and into the sitting room. It was full of ugly old floral furniture. Then she came out into a stairway carved from stone, its steps worn in the middle, a narrow, winding, twisted spiral.

As she made her way down she clung to the inner wall, stopping and crouching every so often to listen. A loud, booming clanging was coming from somewhere above her, drowning out her thoughts so that she couldn’t always tell whether the footsteps she heard were her own. She passed doors that must have led to other rooms, all windowless, all dark and serious, and she crept past every one of these as quickly and quietly as she could. She was going to make it out into the forest and be alone and live alone and never see anybody ever again. She was never going to see him again.

At last the stairs ended in a large, open chamber with nowhere to hide but plenty to take. The large central hall was mostly empty, save for the thick, worn tapestries that lay on the cold stone floor. The gently curving walls were lined with low wooden benches and long, high tables crammed with tools and books and boxes and machine parts. The clanging and booming were quieter, less distracting, down here. A massive fireplace, taller than Rey, emanated light and heat and crackling as she drew closer to it. She couldn’t see how big the hall was, how far it stretched around the endless curve of the tower, but the door to the outside world had to be just around the bend. She threw the log she’d been clutching into the inferno and scavenged the junk on the nearest table. She hefted a bone saw in her hand, loving the idea of having to use it on him, but put it back down and took a screwdriver instead. Less fun, more practical.

She crept along the wall, into some kind of kitchen area. A hunched, narrow back clad in black came into view, turning toward her. She hid her weapon behind her.

“Ah. The girl,” he sneered. She recognized his voice—the sniveler. Hux. “What is it.”

“Let me out of here.”

“Master says you’re free to go wherever you wish.” Red stringy hair hung down over half his pasty, contemptuous face, poorly concealing his lazy eye. He was tall enough that he still stood over her even though he was severely hunch-backed, and though he was slim, his wiry body looked powerful. He held a long knife in one hand. His eyes glinted with open malice.

“Then point me to the door.”

“Of course. Right that way,” he pointed.

She nodded and started to move past him, baring her teeth.

“Don’t fear Master,” he continued. “He won’t hurt you. You’re different from the others.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stopped and turned back to him.

“You’re his first.”

“God—first what?”

“First girl.” He beamed.

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you.”

He laughed. “He’ll teach you not to talk like that. Poor girl. You just don’t know yet. The world doesn’t know yet. To examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death.” He smiled grimly. “Don’t tell him I said so, but Kylo Ren is the greatest scientist man has ever known. A veritable wizard.”

She remembered that name. “Who is Kylo Ren?”

He gave her a surly look. “Master is Kylo Ren.”

“I thought he killed Kylo Ren. ‘Resurrected’ him.”

“No,” Hux sighed, “he killed Ben Solo.”

“But he is Ben.” She tried not to betray her fear, but she knew her voice trembled.

“Don’t say that.” Hux stepped closer, looming over her. “Don’t ever say that.”

“Who’s Ben Solo?”

“Nobody. Like you.”

“I’m not nobody.”

“He knows what you are. What you do. Everything you’ve ever done, he sees.”

“Okay.” She frowned and looked around for another knife.

“He can see inside people. It’s different with you, however. He can feel you.”

She looked at the knife in Hux’s hand.

He shook it at her. “You’d better not ask him about any of that. Don’t ask him anything, don’t sass him, just do what he says. Make it easy. Doctor is Master. And now Master is Maker.”

“Well I’m leaving.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside a little too respectfully, pointing in the same direction again.

Rey allowed herself a brief moment to imagine the day when she came back and burned the tower down with both assholes still in it. Then she moved on. The clanging, though quiet, hadn’t stopped echoing down the spiral staircase and around the stone hall. She found she was matching her footsteps to the beat of it as she stole along the corridor, into a darkness lit dimly by windows high above. Soon she started to hear a new sound. Ringing, marching footsteps, lots of them, in unison, echoing off stone. Then she saw it. The door, old and wooden, covered in beams and bolts, the handle a heavy metal ring made for big hands. She took a deep breath, raised the screwdriver in a tight fist, and opened the door.

Cold autumn wind whipped through her useless nightgown, and a cadre of soldiers lining the front steps turned to look up at her. They carried long barrel handguns and wore helmets that concealed their faces, black like the rest of their gear. The courtyard was swarming with them, like ants, marching in formation on the flagstone within the tall walls circling the tower. She had wondered what “free to go wherever you wish” meant. Assholes.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the guards on the steps pivoted toward her, crossing their guns and forming a barrier with their bodies.

She slammed the door and screeched back the way she had come, seething, wrath surging through her as she strode past Hux—“Why hello again, girl,” he simpered—past the hearth, past the tables full of crap. She stormed up the stairs toward the ridiculous banging that wouldn’t stop, tripping on her nightgown, ready to tear it off. Up and up and up she went, past the room where she’d slept, until the winding steps ended abruptly at a black door. She barged in.

There stood the doctor, hammer in one hand, soldering iron in the other, crouched like a hulking beast over a pile of wires and panels on the counter. This was the laboratory, the room where they’d first confronted each other.

“Hey asshole,” she snarled.

He didn’t respond, just kept clanging away at whatever he was clanging at.

“Hey asshole!” She yelled it this time.

“Oh, were you speaking to me?” he said coolly, putting down his tools but keeping his back to her, looking off into the corner. “You should have phrased that differently. I thought you were talking to Hux.”

“Let me out of here,” she growled.

He turned around. He was wearing round metal goggles with flat glass lenses, and when he pushed them off his face, it made his thick wavy hair fly even wilder around his head. There was a smile in his voice but not his face. “You’re my guest.”

“Is that why you groomed me and dressed me like a doll?”

“Doesn’t look like you can dress yourself. You’re still in your nightclothes.”

“Fuck these clothes! I hate this shit!”

“Have you been outside yet?”

She seethed.

“Nice day.” He bounced on his heels, hands behind his back. He wore high black boots and snug black pants under that god-awful smock. It really didn’t fit right. She shouldn’t be able to notice his pecs and firm waist and bulging shoulders through a fucking long-sleeved smock. Plus his nose was weird. “Do you want to go outside?” he asked.

“What am I a dog?”

He cocked his head. “Would you like me to tell you what you are?”

That was it. Rey would kill him. He was asking her to. She gripped the screwdriver behind her back, got ready. “Come here,” she said sweetly.

With that he lumbered across the long cluttered room, his gait stilted, stiff like he didn’t bend his knees enough when he walked. She knew he was big, but she’d never been standing before when she faced him. He was huge. But she could take him. She had to. She gulped and plastered something like a smile on her face to keep him coming. Just as he got close enough she raised up her arm victoriously and jabbed down at his throat, laughing—

And the screwdriver flew out of her grasp, across the room, at the guidance yet again of Kylo Ren’s raised, cupped hand.

She scurried backwards, away from him, away from what had happened, until she’d backed herself into a wall. Those other things he’d done hadn’t been a dream, then. Was he drugging her? Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. She screamed, raised her own right hand, and before he could get close to her she shoved him away with the force of everything inside herself.

The way he looked up at her as he lay sprawled on the floor of his own laboratory, squinting through sweaty hair, panting, shaking, goggles askew, but looking satisfied and enraptured, even smug—it only made her madder. She thrust her hand forward again, calling to a large knife she’d seen on the counter. The power she felt as it flew to her filled and drained her like an orgasm.

Until the knife halted a few feet from her, mid-air, its handle spinning towards him and his outstretched hand. It stayed stuck in the air like that, gleaming, vibrating, equally pulled in opposite directions, trapped in its own hover.

“You see,” he said excitedly, still on the floor, “you are my creation. I am your Maker.”

“You can’t make me!” she snapped, narrowing her eyes and her mouth. “You’re just some lunatic.”

“I did indeed Make you, and will continue to do so. Oh, I’m not done. I have partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments are still a wonder and a mystery. I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.”

He paused, overcome by his own grandiosity, then cleared his throat and continued. “Through a scientific process mysterious even to myself, I have somehow imbued you with the life force, and now my task is to shape and fashion it within you. Or refashion you around it.” He spoke awfully proudly for someone spread out and sweaty on the floor.

She grunted with the continued mental effort of trying to get the knife into her grasp and not his. “I was never dead, you dolt. You didn’t put life in me.”

“The life force. Not life. Bigger than life. Life dies but the life force doesn’t. Isn’t the spark that moves the maggot the self-same spark that moves the man? Preserving that spark in an individual is not important. What we do with that spark while we have it is important.”

She could see him out of the corner of her eye, staring at her in hunger. She could feel it, not just on her, but in him. But she was afraid to look away from the knife, afraid she’d lose control of whatever she was doing. 

“Rey. I know you feel like a monster. But you’re my monster. I’ll fix you. I’ll make you whole. I see you!” The doctor's voice kept rising. He lowered it to a fervent murmur she could feel in her bones. “I see who you are. You do bad things and you like it. Horrible things have happened to you, but you could have been good. You’re not. Maybe you don't need to be good.” He stuttered on his last sentence. “I will Make you what you need to be.”

She howled and lashed out at him, losing her focus on the knife, letting it fly into his hand as she flew at him. He twisted the arm he was still extending, freezing her mid-motion so that she stood motionless, trapped again, like she always was with him. 

He stood, dusted off his dirty smock, straightened his goggles on his scalp, and stepped to her, just close enough for her to feel his physical presence. He looked down at her with a cold smile. "Go to your room. I will not dress you. You do not deserve it. Dress yourself, eat the food I left for you, then meet me in the library.”

“Fuck you,” Rey spat. “I’m not doing any of that.”

“You are going to do exactly as I say. Do I need to give you further instructions?”

“You need to fuck off.”

“I am your Maker.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

He glowered at her sternly.

“I don’t want to do anything you tell me to. I won’t.”

“Fine. Don’t get dressed. Don’t eat a damn thing. Don’t go to your room, lay in bed, and touch yourself and think of me. And do not come find me afterwards in the library.” He smirked like a prig and strode from the room, waggling the knife at her as he passed, leaving her alone in his laboratory as if she wouldn’t destroy it. Power returned to her limbs and she shook herself. Fuck him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been quoting about twice per chapter from _Frankenstein_ by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. ‘Tis the season, right? You can read the novel for free [here](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/84/84-h/84-h.htm). I also quote a little bit from the classic 1931 film version of _Frankenstein_ , starring Boris Karloff, which you can watch for free [here](https://archive.org/details/UniversalStudiosMonsters1931Frankenstein). And in this chapter I start quoting from the 1934 horror B-movie _Maniac_ , also called _Sex Maniac_ , which you can watch for free [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfDZH0Vr5p8). I highly recommend that last one—it’s ridiculously fun, one of those movies that’s so bad it’s good. 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [FKA twigs, "Video Girl"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jhTiLuGezI)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Noncon sexy times (no intercourse), extreme dubcon sexy times (no intercourse), somnophilia, forced drug use, mild edging/orgasm delay, naked female/clothed male, emotional manipulation. Manipulation Kink, really, if that’s a thing. And the Consensual tag has left the building--who was I kidding? 
> 
> This fic takes place in the 1930s in the Black Forest region of Germany.
> 
> And God said, "Let there be smut": and there was smut. And God saw the smut, and it was good. Really good. And there was a lot of it. But the God was Kylo, and the good was complicated.

Three days and nights passed before Rey made an appearance in the library. Breakfast was on her nightstand when she awoke each morning, and she licked the plates clean, left them in the middle of her unmade bed, then wandered around the tower wreaking havoc. She never ran into Kylo, which wasn’t hard. The cacophony of things (sometimes Hux) getting knocked over and thrown across rooms and torn apart made the doctor an easy man to locate and avoid.

The tower only fell truly quiet when he was out in the courtyard, directing the troops in their exercises. She’d walk to the window of whatever room she was ransacking and watch him, keeping herself hidden behind the curtains, wondering what it was all for. She liked to watch him shout and shake his fists at the soldiers, and she liked to watch them obey him without question.

When she returned to her room each evening the bed was made, the sheets clean, everything she’d thrown on the floor was back where it belonged, and dinner was waiting for her on a lidded dish. Of course, everything having been fixed and put back neatly just made her angrier, and she’d make at least a small mess again before bed.

At night she dreamt he was in her room, sitting in the ugly upholstered chair next to her bed, reading to her from _Ruins of Empires_. He had to cross his thick thighs to fit in the narrow seat, and he would lean toward her and murmur softly, not just reading to her but instructing her.

As his low voice rumbled, his eyes never left the page but his fingers crept slowly over the coverlet, over her dreaming body, exploring and testing what she felt like and what he could get away with. When it finally made its languorous way down to her feet, his hand slipped under the sheets. Still reading from the stupid book, he rucked up her nightgown as he groped his way up her legs, squeezing almost too hard, lingering especially on her calves and thighs.

“Don’t worry, _ma poubelle_ ,” he said, hushing her as she sighed and panted. “This isn’t real.” He was half out of the chair now. His hand had moved back down to her knees and was stroking its way up the insides of her thighs, making her tremble, making her want to close her legs. But she opened them instead.

“I would never do this to you,” he whispered as his hand cupped and clutched her mons, rolling his heel lightly into her clit over her panties, his strong fingers stroking up and down over her dampening entrance. “You know I'd never touch you like this.”

It was a strange dream. She tried to speak, but her tongue was too thick. She tried to move, but her body was too heavy. All she could do was writhe and whimper. It was just a hand on her panties, so little compared to what she was used to, but she couldn’t take it. The way he pressed just right was too much.

“Ah,” he cooed, with a furrowed brow and thick pursed lips, “is this what you want?” His big hand slipped into her panties, knuckles stretching the delicate fabric. “You bad girl.” She managed to shake her head no. “Yes it is,” he laughed, low. “This is your dream, not mine.”

The book was forgotten. Kylo Ren knelt on the floor beside her bed and pulled the coverlet up over his head, watching his fingers work. He massaged her outer lips, rolling them between his calloused fingers, squeezing their plumpness, breathing onto them. She ran her fingers through his soft, thick, beautiful hair and held on. He stroked open her inner lips then, gathering moisture and swirling it around her clit, teasing the nub, touching all around it rather than directly on it.

Rey moaned.

“Try to be good,” Kylo murmured, “for once.” The rough pad of his middle finger finally rubbed right on her clit. She moaned louder. He rubbed faster, then slower, trying to find the right rhythm.

She arched her back and started moving her hips, helping him find it. “I said be good,” he growled. “Let your Maker decide what’s best.”

She whined and kept shifting around.

“If you keep acting like a little terror,” he threatened through clenched teeth, “I’m not going to use my fingers inside you.”

She held tighter onto his hair and pulled his head closer to her hungry cunt.

And he pulled away, like an asshole, and stood up.

She cried out, trying to tell him to go fuck himself, but she could only drool.

“That’s right,” he said, “even in your dreams I’m the one in control. You can’t hide, Rey. Not from me.”

He adjusted his pants and tucked her back under the covers, trapping her in the bedding. Then he sat back down in the stuffed chair and picked up _Ruins of Empires_.

“Feeble work of my hands, I owe thee nothing, and I give thee life,” Kylo read, not looking at her. “Thou wilt find in the world a mixture of good and evil; it is for thee to distinguish them; for thee to guide thy footsteps in a path containing thorns as well as roses. Yes, man is made the architect of his own destiny; he, himself, hath been the cause of the successes or reverses of his own fortune . . ."

As he droned on, she drifted off into a deeper sleep. Strong fingers crept back over her body.

†††

Rey didn’t get dressed until the second day, in masculine, practical clothes she found in a bedroom off a hallway several floors down. She knew they weren’t Kylo’s, because they almost fit her. They were more like the clothes of a large boy: creased navy blue slacks, off-white wool button-downs, and soft corded sweaters in green and blue and beige. Only one suit and no double-breasted jackets. There were neckties, and she knew it would piss him off to see her in them, but she didn’t have the patience to figure out how to tie one.

Besides, she knew which room was his. It was the sparsest, most dreadfully boring one, with the fewest things she could fence out of all the rooms in the tower. Even the bathrooms were more interesting. All he had was a long narrow bed and a long flat table with a cup, a bowl, a fountain pen, and a sheaf of blank paper. And an uncomfortable wooden chair. Rey suspected that the rest of his possessions were hidden somewhere, and that was interesting, but she hadn’t been able to find any false panels or hidden mechanisms. She would, though.

The only room she steered clear of was the library, because he’d told her to go there. Everything else was fair game. The tower was an odd place, and its rooms presented the history of the building and the people who’d lived there like a puzzle. Every dark wooden door on the spiral steps opened onto the hallway of a different floor that wrapped around the central stairwell. Most people had electricity by now—Rey didn’t—but there was still something unnerving about all the thick black wires running along the floors and up the walls. Most people tried to make the wires look nice, or disguise them somehow. But not Kylo.

The master suite, which was not where Kylo stayed, took up an entire floor, with a shared bedroom, woman’s boudoir, man’s cabinet, and various sitting and dressing rooms. Plenty of space for two people to live together but rarely see each other. There was no mingling of the man’s and the woman’s possessions across their rooms or, she guessed, their lives. The lady’s rooms were full of political treatises and partisan pamphlets and ball gowns. His were full of train timetables and maps, mechanical diagrams, miscellaneous pieces of metal and knotted rope. Yet the bedroom they shared was almost as muted as Kylo’s. Who had they been? And why were their things still here?

Then there was the boy’s bedroom, on the floor below the master suite, all alone at the end of a hallway. This was where she found the clothes she wore. It was the opposite of the other bedrooms: full of books and a variety of calligraphy pens and fancy kinds of paper, and ships in bottles, and fantastical toy animals, and an intricate train set that took up half the floor. Suddenly, Rey remembered a vivid snatch of a dream she’d had the night before, but it didn’t make sense and she pushed it away. Something about the room made Rey sad, and she didn’t linger there.

Instead, she stood at the window and watched Hux down below, digging in the grass under skeletal tree branches losing their leaves. She wondered if that meant new cadavers had been brought in, to replace all those jars of body parts she’d smashed. And were they burying any valuables with those bodies?

She went to check on the horde of things she’d pillaged from around the tower, which she kept hidden in a distant room on yet another floor. It was dusty and desolate there and all the furniture, even the chandelier, was covered in sheets. She bathed quickly and quietly in a bathroom on that floor while Kylo was out in the courtyard, careful not to let herself be any more vulnerable than she already was.

When she returned to her room that evening, she made her feelings about the frilly clothes in her dresser clear by, once again, throwing them all over the floor. It felt good. Dinner was very rich, like it always was here, and made her very tired. She fell asleep faster, and slept far more soundly, here in the tower than she ever had in her life out in the world. In fact, she slept so deeply that she kept missing the delivery of breakfast each morning, which was almost alarming for her, a woman who’d spent her whole life sleeping with her back to the wall and her eye on the door.

That night, she dreamt that Kylo was in her room again, sitting next to her on the bed, over the covers, studiously reading aloud from Volney’s _Ruins of Empires_. He held the leather-bound book with one hand, and had his other hand under the sheets, rubbing her tummy through her nightgown in a soothing, repetitive pattern. His heavy arm rested between her breasts. She felt satisfied, but also like something inside her was tightening. Because it was just a dream, she let herself enjoy it, and mewled.

“I know,” he purred, not looking at her, and kept on reading and rubbing her belly. She tried to move her legs, to reposition herself, but she couldn’t.

Eventually he started unbuttoning her nightgown, from the neck down, under the sheets. “I’m too good to you,” he sighed. “You don’t deserve this.” He kept reading, unbuttoning her slowly, like punctuation to the words he read aloud: “Yes, you yourselves cause the evils of which you complain; yourselves encourage the tyrants, by a base adulation of their power. On whom shall you wreak vengeance for the faults committed by your own ignorance and cupidity?"

His hand slid under her nightgown, kneading her breasts, roughly, in a way that she needed. It felt soft but demanding. She wanted to curl up around his hand and his big arm, bite his shoulder, pull him to her. But her body was too heavy again, and she couldn’t. 

“The end.” He put the book on the nightstand and leaned toward her. “Rey,” he said, petting her hair, brushing it back from her forehead. “Remember that this is your dream. Anything that I do to you, you want me to do. You’re making it all up.” He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then stood and got under the covers next to her, leaning over her on one elbow. Rey whimpered. She felt vulnerable and confused.

“Hey hey hey,” he shushed her. “This is what you want. Not me.” He traced the outline of one breast slowly, then cupped it, hefting its weight, digging his fingers in gently, studying her body with hungry eyes. “Now stop moving. Be still.” She wasn’t moving, she couldn’t move. It was a strange dream.

He shifted down in the bed, covering her belly with his forearm, and bent down to kiss her between her breasts, holding one in his hand and burying his face in it as he kissed her harder there, and then mouthed his way up the underside of her tit, stopping just next to her nipple, sucking softly but hard enough to leave a mark.

“Much better,” he murmured. “Don’t fight me. Take it.” He kissed her nipple gingerly, just a peck, then went back to that sensitive spot she hadn’t known about between her breasts. He still had all his clothes on, and they rubbed against her, too.

“More,” she tried to say, but her tongue just flopped around.

He kissed her nipple again and again and again, fluttering, feeding the need twisting in her gut. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled weakly.

“I know what you want, _ma poubelle_. And I’ll decide when to give it to you.”

He grazed her nipple but kept his lips on her this time, humming, then lapped at her with his tongue and brought her breast into his mouth, sucking his cheeks in, nibbling a little, pushing with his lips. She cried out. He paused and looked up at her, dark eyes asking if she was going to ruin it. She closed her eyes and gave in.

Kylo suckled and nuzzled her gently, endlessly. He was nursing something from her, her softness, bringing to the surface a side of herself she didn’t like to look at. For a long time she just lay there, with her hands clutching his hair, far away inside herself, but with him. It felt like the inside of her was connected to the inside of him. She could feel his hunger and satisfaction. His mouth and hands alternated back and forth, bringing both breasts together, squeezing and licking and sucking them, rubbing them together, on his cheek, under his chin, switching back and forth between them, as he struck a rhythm that resonated somewhere deep and forgotten within her. Every so often he groaned around a mouthful of tit and pressed harder. This was different from what sex had been like for Rey in the past. It was long, slow, and repetitive, nurturing, taking, and confusing. It wasn’t about coming. It was about something else.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, and pulled away, and blew on her where she was wet and sticky from his sucking. She shivered harder, and clumsily tried to bring her arms up to cover herself. “Not such a tough girl now, are you?” he cooed. He moved down to lave and lick her belly, obscenely, possessively, then blew on her there too.

“Nobody’s coming to get you,” he said into her navel. “Just me. Nobody would hunt you down but me. And I will, Rey. I’ll hunt you down if you leave. You’re my creation.”

He heaved a sigh and then he was gone, out of the bed, and she felt cold and alone and wanting. She kept her eyes closed. When he came back he pulled her up into his chest, rearranged some pillows behind her, and coaxed her back against them, so that she was splayed out for him to play with. He picked up a book he had placed next to her head on the pillow, and cleared his throat. “John Milton. _Paradise Lost_. You’d think he knew the mysteries of the life force, the way he talks about struggling within yourself. But only you and I know. And my benefactor.” He paused. “My grandfather also knew.” He shook his head and began to read:

“No light, but rather darkness visible  
Served only to discover sights of woe,  
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, . . .  
Such place Eternal Justice had prepared  
For those rebellious, here their prison ordained  
In utter darkness . . .”

As Kylo read to her about the Devil being thrown into Hell, he rested his head on one of her breasts and nuzzled the other, licking and kissing between words, biting sometimes, caressing her. Eventually, Rey drowsed back into dreamless slumber, relaxing into the push and pull of his mouth and fingers and words upon her.

†††

When she awoke on the third morning, breakfast had been left on her nightstand like usual, but _Paradise Lost_ lay on the chair next to it, not _Ruins of Empires_. This tugged at something within her, and as she brought the plates into bed and ate ravenously—pancakes with bacon, pickled cucumbers, sausages, boiled eggs with mustard—she kept glancing back over at the book. She thought she had a pretty good idea what went on in the tower, but there were some things that were still a mystery to her.

She belched and lay back in the bed, content but unsettled, trying to figure out what the book meant. She’d been having strange dreams lately, too. She barely remembered them, but they left her feeling funny all day.

Whatever it was, she’d figure it out. She dumped the plates on the bed and pulled some books off the shelves, throwing them on top of the mess she’d started on the floor last night. Then she went out into the sitting room to listen for Kylo’s location. He was down in the great hall, bellowing at Hux and kicking something. Good. 

Rey prowled out and up the spiral steps, through a dark wooden door and down a hall to Kylo’s spartan bedroom. He was hiding something in here and she was going to find it. She searched and searched and searched, prodding every piece of wood paneling, every bit of molding, probing under the rug, the table, the bedframe, the mattress. Nothing. At last she sat back on her heels, sweaty and tired and frustrated. Should she just trash the room? But then he’d know she’d been in here, wanting to know about him, and he’d feel satisfied about that. Rey threw herself on his bed. It smelled like him.

She stiffened. Suddenly, she knew. Fragments of half-remembered dreams were stitching together. They weren’t dreams. He came to her room every night. Indoctrinating her. And drugging her food. And touching her. Making her feel things. It didn’t matter if she went to the library or not, he’d have her.

She went and sat in the boy’s bedroom to think, running the train aimlessly around the track, rearranging the tiny people in the miniature town. Troops outside, with guns, and a madman inside, with drugs, and restraints, and some kind of crazy magic power that maybe she had too. No—the drugs explained the life force, finally. He’d been drugging her from the start. But now she knew what she was up against.

The rest of the third day passed in a daze. She realized how long she’d been sitting by the boy’s window when the last of the sun sank below the mountains in the dark red distance. Time to wash up, then dinner and bed. She knew what she’d do.

Back in her bedroom, which was tidy again, she changed into one of the long, high-necked nightgowns that he liked. Then she took the lids off her dinner plates and hid the food in the drawers of her bureau, covering it up with fancy clothes to smother the smell. Hux would have fun cleaning that up. She’d have to go hungry, which was one of her least favorite things, but it was something she was good at.

Now that it was fully dark out, it was cold. She got in bed and pretended to be asleep, waiting for Kylo to make his move. As she lay there she imagined herself kicking him in his smug face, punching him in his needy stomach, bashing him over his presumptuous head and making him fall to the ground like the worm he was.

And somehow she must have soothed herself to sleep with these thoughts, because she was awakened by the weight of his body upon her. She lay on her stomach, covers thrown off, and he was creeping up her closed legs, sucking and biting and groaning and muttering, kneading her ass, nuzzling his face in her cheeks and squeezing them, still biting but so sloppy and wet and soft, overwhelmed by his own need, unable to stop taking, mindless of everything but the heat emanating from the dark patch at the top of her legs. She could feel all of it within her, his need, his conflict, his fixation.

Rey shoved her face deeper into the pillow, wanting to scream, as he buried his nose in the crack of her ass and rubbed it back and forth. Thank god she’d washed up. Wait, no, fuck him. It was all happening much faster and harder than it had the other nights. She’d been fucked plenty of ways before but this was way too . . . close. She was almost glad that she had to remain silent and immobile, pretending to be drugged, because she couldn’t handle her own reactions to what he was doing. She didn’t want him to see, didn’t want him to know what she was feeling.

“I know you’re awake, Rey.” His rough voice vibrated in her flesh.

She shuddered.

He dug his fingers under the curves of her ass cheeks and lifted them up, just holding them, hefting them, appreciating them. “Don’t you sense the connection we have? Didn’t you think I could feel you too?”

She kept playing her game. She was not awake. She wasn’t even here.

Kylo brought his mouth down to her cunt, hovering just over it. She could feel his breath, his attention. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You can run, you can hide, you can pretend. I’ll let nothing stand in our way.”

He kissed her lips then, spreading her ass cheeks for better access, licking open her wet labia. “How does such a bad girl have such a pretty pussy?” He rubbed his face into her as he laved broad stripes on either side of her entrance, pushing open her legs at the same time, settling himself between them.

“Mmm, you like that?” he hummed, pushing his tongue softly inside her. “You like being bad?”

She kicked her legs feebly, not really trying to get away, but needing to make a show of it.

“I know you do,” he rumbled.

Even his tongue was strong and powerful and in control. He swooped and dived, taking her over, not just tasting her cunt but eating her, consuming her, relishing his nose in her ass, squeezing her thighs and her cheeks, slapping her, spreading her, grunting and moaning.

And she wasn’t any better. Rey couldn’t stop herself from rolling her hips, arching her back, shoving herself at him, clutching the pillow, gasping into the sheets.

“Stop,” she eventually cried. “I don’t want to come.”

“Yes you do,” he growled, face still buried in her cunt, and now his fingers, too. “You need to.”

“No I don’t. I don’t need anything from anybody,” she panted. “You piece of shit.”

“Foolish girl.” She could feel his smile. “I’ve been working you up for days. You have to come.”

“No.” She closed her eyes.

“You have to,” he said darkly.

She shook her head and groaned.

“You will.” His licks turned light and teasing, not so consuming, not pushing her to the edge. Like she’d thought she wanted.

“Call me your Maker,” he insisted.

“No!”

He sucked on her labia harder and pumped his long, thick fingers inside her.

“Oh, God!” she cried.

“Yes,” he hummed. “That’s it.”

“God no! Fuck you!” She writhed, eyes shut, trying to close her legs. It was going to happen. She was going to come whether she wanted to or not. It wasn’t up to her.

“You want this,” he kept saying. “I know you want this. I know you do.” He bit her ass. “Do you know you want this?”

“Yes,” Rey sobbed. “God, yes.” She lifted one leg, hitching her knee up by her hip to give him better access.

She felt him groan into her. “Even the way you move is wicked. Wanton. What a waste that other men got to have you.” He drove his face into her, licking her clit, stroking her inner walls where it made her shake.

“God God God God God,” she whispered, over and over again, trying to curl up into a ball, but still trapped on her stomach by him, lost, giving in.

“That’s right. You’re my creation. I’m your God. I see you, _ma poubelle_. I know what you are. And you see me.”

She came all around him, unloosening like she was pouring out of herself, convulsing, shuddering, tearing at the sheets, wailing, not feeling very pretty but feeling very much herself, cum gushing out of her and him drinking it up, continuing to lap at her, even after she’d come down. It felt like he’d never stop.

†††

Three days and three nights. The next morning Rey rose before dawn, stole breakfast from Hux’s stores in the kitchen, and anticipated Kylo in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you’re into this! I sure am, obviously, but I can’t help but feel like I'm letting my freak frag fly. I have very little control over this story. And, I mean, YIKES. But also YUM. The fuck is this?
> 
> Oh and quotes. Nothing from _Frankenstein_ this chapter, the book or movie, but the two books that Kylo reads to Rey are books that the monster reads in Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's _Frankenstein_. Those two books are _Ruins of Empires_ by C.F. Volney, which you can read [here](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1397/1397-h/1397-h.htm) for free, and _Paradise Lost_ by John Milton, which you can read [here](http://www.paradiselost.org/8-Search-All.html) for free.
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Beach House, "Norway"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHbtR8uO81M)  
> [King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, "Hot Wax"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8azlP-FgHs)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: exhibitionism, size kink, vaginal and oral object insertion, frottage/dry humping, orgasm denial/control, emotional manipulation, mind control, taboo everything, noncon/dubcon, magico-religious mumbo-jumbo
> 
> Thanks for your feedback on the last chapter! Please keep it coming, your comments are great and you helped me figure out some later plot points. As you’ll see, we’re sticking with the trash can pet name. It's important to the characters and their relationship.
> 
> If you’re not cackling and masturbating while reading this, then I’m doing something wrong.

An obnoxious amount of books, too many for one person to own, was waiting in the library for Rey. It took up a full floor of the tower. Two floors, really, since the ceilings were so high. It was a narrow room, but long and tall and curved. The bookshelves of the outer wall were interspersed with big banks of windows. A wrought-iron balcony, painted gold and peeling, ringed the second tier of shelves on the inner wall, and was punctuated periodically by tight spiral staircases. Each window was inset with a stained-glass falcon in a different stage of flight, and looked out over jagged forest and gentle mountains and flat, low-lying clouds.

Rey walked around touching all the books, pondering their titles as she rubbed the gilt lettering on their soft leather spines. It was a rare treat for her to sit down and read whatever interesting thing she picked up, wherever it fancied her. She wondered if any of the books were really Kylo’s or they had all just come with the tower. She cursed him for being lucky and not poor, and for not appreciating it. Even though it looked like he spent a lot of time here. Tomes were piled high on the tables, the ottomans, the Persian rugs, heaped haphazardly on the cushions of brocade couches and armchairs. And not just scientific and anatomical texts, like she’d expected him to be reading, but poetry, mythology, romances.

Of course, as always, there was a downside to Kylo’s attentions. Although the library had been beautifully designed and lavishly furnished, it wasn’t being taken care of. Stuffing spilled out of tattered corners on every chair, the wooden tables bore gouges of a confusing variety, even the tasseled lampshades hung crooked. Chunks of the gold paint peeling off the balcony clumped together on the carpets.

When Kylo finally appeared, the sun was almost directly overhead and Rey was standing at one of the windows with her arms crossed, watching the troops practice battle formations in the courtyard below.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked as he stalked toward her.

She didn’t turn around, didn’t respond.

“Answering my summons?” She was annoyed by the pride in his voice. “Four days later. I’d thought it would take longer.”

Rey tilted her head down toward the courtyard more pointedly to make it clear that she was busy.

He came to stand behind her at the window, getting too close like always. He didn’t quite touch her, but the threat of his physical presence pressed upon her.

Together they watched the troops lining up, circling each other, joining only to separate again.

“Are you curious about the men?” He hunched over to murmur in her ear. “They’re curious about you, too. They want to see.”

“See what?”

He tucked a loose lock of hair back into her messy braid. “Everything.”

She shivered.

He went on patiently. “And they will. But not yet.”

He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She knew he was goading her. He thought he was stronger and smarter than her, and that was going to be his downfall.

“They want to see my monster,” he cooed, playing with her hair, “the fruit of my creation. They know a God walks among them and they want to see His miracle. Living tissue, warm flesh.”

“I am not part of your bullshit!” she snapped.

“Ah, but you’re living proof of my godhead. For only the mightiest of gods makes his own consort.”

“You say that shit to people?” Rey shook her head. “To them?”

“My men have been with me for years, burning for glory and slaughter through the World War and the revolution. They understand things that you don’t yet. They have seen what these hands can do.” He ran his palms, clad in cold black leather gloves, up and down her arms. “But you’re ready now. You will learn. Though sorrow only increases with knowledge.”

“You think you’re so—”

Rey was cut off by a knock on the library door.

“What!” Kylo barked, stepping closer around her, enveloping her with his body.

The dark wooden door creaked open with the whine of a familiar nasal voice. “A letter has arrived from your benefactor, Master.”

Kylo looked down at Rey, then stepped toward Hux, keeping one heavy, domineering hand on her shoulder. _“Why couldn’t this wait?”_ he asked in brusque French.

_“It bears the seal of the obsidian sun,”_ Hux responded in the same tongue.

_“Are you sure?”_ A pause. _“Then the night of unholy union is closer than we thought._ ”

Rey kept still and tried to stay unnoticed, gazing at the mountains in the murky blue distance as she listened. The dumb bastards assumed she didn’t know French. Because she was poor, probably. But poor people had to know a lot more than rich people did in order to survive. She’d wondered if him calling her _ma poubelle_ was—among other things—a test of whether she knew French. Like him leaving _Paradise Lost_ on the nightstand must have been a test of whether or not she could read. She’d fucking show them what she knew.

_“We have to move much faster,”_ Kylo mused. _“He’ll be here within a fortnight. Get started on today’s bodies immediately, then take care of last night’s.”_

_“Yes, Master. Been preparing her, eh? For the ritual? Is she finally . . . learning?_ ” Hux snickered.

_“ Aren’t you bold, speaking of the mysteries. You, an uninitiate. What role do you think you play here?”_

_“I’d never presume—”_

 _“You do, constantly. How dare you speak of the ceremony? Or her? To me?_ ”

_“I, I—”_

Something heavy fell to the ground. She heard Hux choking, a familiar sound.

_“Ingrate,”_ Kylo rumbled. _“On your way, go upstairs and throw the monster’s entire wardrobe out. And her bureau too. But don’t replace any of it. I want to make a point.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

He reverted to German. “Well get out then.” 

Hux scurried out of the library, closing the door again behind him.

Kylo returned to her at the window and sighed deeply. After a long moment in which he seemed to be smelling her fucking hair, he settled one hand on the brass railing in front of her. His other hand slid under the waistband of her pants, straining to get under her belt. “You must stop wearing these. It isn’t right.”

Rey scoffed and put the men’s conversation away in her head for later. “I’m not going to wear frilly useless crap that I can’t move around in.”

He came closer, pushing his massive chest against her back, fingers still in her waistband, caressing back and forth. “You don’t know whose clothes these are. You shouldn’t be wearing them.”

She leaned away from his fingers, only to bump against his other arm braced against the railing. How had he trapped her so quickly?

“You can’t dress like a boy,” he insisted. “Not this boy.” He put both his hands in her front pockets, testing their depth with his long broad fingers, rubbing her thighs through the lining. “It isn’t right,” he groaned, bunching up the fabric as he pawed at her.

“Yes I fucking can,” Rey grunted. If she was squirming, it was only to get away from him.

He took a deep breath. “Do you go to his room every day? To put these on?”

“Whose?” she asked, a little too breathy.

“Where you get these clothes.” He groped her ass like he was polishing an apple. “The boy’s bedroom. With his little calligraphy set and his trains and his helplessness. Why do you go there? What do you want?”

Rey accidentally tilted her ass back into his groin, just for a minute or two, then away again. She shook her head.

“Why do you wear his clothes?”

She smacked Kylo’s hand away as it snaked up toward her breasts.

He grabbed her hips and ground his dick into her ass through her pants. “What do you want?” She gasped and squirmed as his voice got louder and louder. His dick felt massive, like she knew it would be. “You want to go back and save that boy? You want to take care of him? Fix him? Now that he doesn’t need anybody?”

“Stop it,” she hissed, trying halfheartedly to pull herself away from him.

“That boy is dead. I killed him. He was weak, like his father.”

“Ben,” she breathed as he squeezed her hips, her waist, her upper thighs, rubbing himself on her ass, thick and hot and heavy and powerful.

“I’ll kill him again if I have to.”

She leaned forward against the window, bent over the railing, looking out, seeing nothing. He followed, draping his body over hers from behind, taking advantage of the angle to prop her hips up in his hands and dry hump into her softness.

“I know you’re afraid of my cock,” he purred, “but you have nowhere to go.”

She shook her head, unable to say anything, grinding back against him. There was a lot going on.

“I’m your Maker, _ma poubelle_. I see inside you. I know you touch yourself and fret about my fat cock.” He licked her ear. “About how heavy it felt on your thigh when I suckled you. How hard it throbbed against your soft skin when I ate you. Can you take it? Do you think you can?” He nuzzled into her neck and pumped harder, pulling back from her ass and repositioning himself lower, at her cleft, making her take stock of him. She whined. “Shh, shh. It’s okay to be nervous. It’s sweet.”

Rey wormed away just enough to reach back and slap him in the face. She was not sweet.

“You holy fucking terror.” He grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her, then stood up and pushed her face into the window, thrusting against her cunt so hard through their clothes that it had to be hurting him. Too much sensation. With a shudder he snaked his cold gloved hand down her belly and unbuttoned her fly, sliding his hand inside the boy’s drawers she was wearing, engulfing her puffy lips in his palm. “Toward the window,” he commanded, spreading her roughly with his thick fingers. “No. Look down. Yes, like that. See the men?” She nodded. “Tell me what they’re doing.” 

“They’re—” She huffed as his thumb pressed and rolled in place on her still hooded clit.

“What are they doing down there?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer.

“I am your Maker. Whatever I ask, you answer. What are they doing down in the courtyard?”

“Marching around. Like . . .” She tried not to groan, failed. “Like ants.”

“Are any of them looking up here?”

“No!” she squealed as he dug his hand deeper into her drawers, teasing her entrance, dipping just barely inside her. She could feel him fumbling with something behind her, under his smock.

“Are you sure? Watch carefully.” Kylo pulled her underclothes down to her thighs. “Do they see what you’re letting me do to you, _ma poubelle_?”

She bit her lip. Something cold and hard, but encased in softness, prodded at her cunt.

“You’re right, you know. My cock is far too big for you. Arch your back.” One hand held her open, making her gape, while the other started slowly driving the oblong object into her, bobbing as he went, letting the texture of whatever it was drag against her walls, letting her feel how full she was as he made her fuller. “We’ll have to work you up to taking me.”

She moaned and gyrated. She wanted more. She couldn’t help it.

He ignored her struggling, bearing his chest down on her back, eclipsing her, forcing her against the window until her forehead touched the glass again.

Rey felt like some kind of malevolent goddess: all those men below, and none of them mattered. All that mattered was getting what she wanted. And he was giving it to her. She fucked herself on the thing in his hand.

“What is that?” she panted.

“You don’t care. You want it. You’ll take it.” His mouth was sucking on the spot right behind her earlobe. She was coming apart. “You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you? I can do anything I want with you.”

She mewled. It was true. It was becoming true.

“It’s the middle of the god damned day. Look at you. Everyone can see you. Getting your hungry little pussy fucked by you don’t even know what. Can’t you be good at all?”

Her moans were getting desperate. She wanted more. It was too much and she wanted more.

“How many men do you think must be down there?”

She didn’t answer, until he cleared his throat in warning. “Hundreds,” she whispered.

“Thousands,” his deep voice corrected her. “Close your eyes. That’s it. Now imagine you’re one of those soldiers down below, looking up here. What do they see when they look at you?”

He fucked her harder with it, making her choke. “What do they see, _ma poubelle_? When they look up here and find you like this?”

Kylo waited for an answer.

“Do they see a good girl?”

She whimpered.

“Tell me.” His voice was hoarse.

“No. They don’t.”

“Keep your eyes closed. What do they see?”

“A monster.” Her face contorted. She didn’t know if she was going to cry or come or both.

He nodded, and buried his face in her neck. “Stop fussing and take it.” He was pushing against her cervix with the object and it felt like she deserved it. “I could fuck you on my cock in front of all of them, couldn’t I? Down there on the ground, like a dog in heat, surrounded by the pack, and you wouldn’t even try to stop me.”

She clenched herself, tried to slow her body’s reaction.

“And they wouldn’t stop me either. They couldn’t. You’d be safe in the midst of thousands of lusting men. Safe from everyone in the world but me.“

Her whole body was shaking. She could hear the brass railing rattling underneath her.

“Is that what you want? For everybody to see? To show the world? You and I, the God and his sacrifice, the priest and his altar, unholiest of unions?”

Just as she felt the first spasm of climax, he yanked the object out of her, letting her slump forward onto the glass. She let out an ugly, self-pitying wail. “I know. You’re gushing, my little deviant. But you can’t come yet. You just reached completion last night.”

She was a mess, drooling, eyes unfocused, feeling like maybe she had come, even though she knew she hadn’t. At some point he must have unbuttoned her flannel. Her tits were cold and wet as she covered them back up.

Kylo eyed her like she was a specimen under glass, or a lab rat in a cage. “Get down on your knees. Now.”

Rey scrambled so fast to obey that she practically fell to the ground. She was hungry for it. Ready.

But he didn’t unbutton his pants, didn’t lift his smock. Instead he shoved his leather-gloved fingers into her mouth, pressing down her tongue, opening her jaw.

She took it.

“Much better,” he murmured, and withdrew his fingers. He held a long sharp dagger, gripping its blade rather than its handle. As he slid its round, thick hilt into her mouth, he fucked her face a little. It was cold and hard but encased in soft leather, and she could taste herself on it. This was the object. “That’s right. Suck, _ma poubelle_.”

He palmed his erection through his clothes as she kissed and licked and savored the pommel, so close to the dangerous blade that he kept her safe from. She thought about how massive his cock was, how he had to prepare her for it. As she watched him squeeze himself she squeezed her legs even tighter. She wanted to see him come. Why hadn’t he ever let her see him come?

“All clean,” he eventually sighed, and put the dagger away. “Now we have to get you cleaned and properly dressed.”

Rey looked up into his dark, fathomless eyes. “Yes, Maker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Oh my. I hope you all like sex magick, because that's where we're headed.
> 
> Brief Oingo Boingo quote in this chapter. The title of the fic is a lyric from ["Weird Science"](https://youtu.be/Jm-upHSP9KU). There are also a couple quotes from the _Frankenstein_ novel, as usual.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [@spiffyricky](https://spiffyricky.tumblr.com/) and on Twitter [@spiffrick](https://mobile.twitter.com/spiffrick). 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Birthday Party, "Junkyard"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvlS4BwTUQw)  
> Check out this batshit performance. That bass player FUCKS. And early ‘80s Nick Cave put out such strong Kylo vibes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: TIDDY TIME IS HERE AGAIN (sung to the tune of "Christmas Time Is Here Again"), orgasm denial/control, mention of previous child prostitution, mild violence and murder, war flashback, mind invasion, mind control, bodily control, unaddressed Oedipal issues, more dry humping (thank god), angst, masturbation, religious repression, inappropriate use of the Jedi Code 
> 
> Happy Halloween! Let’s be angry and horny and sad together.

Rey no longer knew how long she had been in the tower. Each day bled into the next. She woke up every morning to breakfast waiting on her nightstand and Kylo in the chair next to her, eyes closed, chanting in some weird language, hand cupped and pointed toward her head. He supervised her while she ate, chastising her when her bites were too big or she chewed too fast. Then he led her up to the master suite, where he instructed her to bathe while he selected her outfit for the day. That floor was always locked now, and so was the sad boy’s bedroom. He examined her after every bath and loved to tell her that she hadn’t cleaned herself sufficiently, and make her do it again, never with any explanation of what needed to be corrected. After he dressed her, he always played with her tits in the suite’s massive, canopied, four-poster bed. It took up most of every single fucking morning. He drew the curtains around the bedframe as if they were in their own little world, and took her half out of the clothes he had just dressed her in so carefully, and nuzzled into her breasts for what felt like hours.

She had to accept that there was a connection between them, because it grew stronger every day. As he curled up around her and took her into his mouth and hands, consuming her flesh, he seemed to be letting her inside his mind without realizing it. Letting her see his memories and the hidden parts of himself. She knew the name now of the woman whose clothes he dressed her in. Leia. And it was Leia’s marital bed that he suckled her in every morning. He was the sad large boy with the bedroom downstairs, the train set and the ships in bottles.

This morning he’d put her in an emerald green dress with a low neckline, which he’d pulled her tits right back out of as soon as he tumbled on top of her into the bed. She was on her hands and knees over him, dress rucked up around her waist, eyes closed, mouth open, gasping softly as he reached up and sucked and squeezed her breasts. He had one knee raised, and with his hands on her hips he was slowly rubbing her off on his thigh.

Slow, slow nursing and grinding, and no orgasm in sight. He barely ever let her come, he just worked her up all the time. Especially in the mornings. It was torture. Rey was allowed to orgasm every third evening at midnight, and if she didn’t come right then, she had to wait another three days. He himself never climaxed, and he still hadn’t let her see his dick, though he loved to threaten her with it.

Suddenly, he pressed the side of her clit just right against his thigh. Her belly twinged and a vision came to her from within him. It was Kylo—Ben—but he was much younger, not so tall yet, a lanky preteen in an awkwardly fitted, light-colored suit. His black hair was cropped straight and his ears jutted out. He stood on a train platform, shoulders slumped, head cast down to the ground, but his deep, brown eyes were looking up and watching the train pull away. His mouth trembled but made no sound. A man stood next to him, with sandy graying hair and hard blue eyes, gripping Kylo’s shoulder with articulated metal, almost skeletal fingers. Leia sat in one of the windows of the departing train, hair done up high, talking to someone seated next to her, not looking back at her son as she left him.

Rey tossed her head. His lips pulled back and pursed around her nipple, asking her to give him something that he was already taking from her. Kylo always wanted more. She sighed and rolled her shoulders back, letting her breast into his mouth as he took it greedily, swallowing her soft flesh, pressing lightly with his teeth as he lapped at her with his tongue. She was vaguely aware that she was giving in, but it was just for now.

“I can’t,” she whined.

“You have to,” he murmured, mouthing at her nipple.

“I just want to come.”

“You can’t.”

“I have to.”

He shushed her. “Restrain yourself, _ma poubelle_.”

“Then don’t touch me,” she panted over him, tits sore from his relentless mouth. She leaned down on her elbows, tucking her head against his cheek and whimpering in his ear, feeling sorry for herself, wanting him to pity her.

“Don’t you feel your life force getting stronger?” He ground her cunt against his thigh harder, but slower, dragging her lips against the rough-textured fabric of his pants.

She grumbled and tried to rub herself side to side, disrupting his rhythm.

“Such a bad girl. So ungrateful.” He groaned and pulled her out of his mouth to rub his face between her tits. “Just take what I give you.”

“I want to come,” she pouted. “I need to, Maker,” she whispered. Fucking asshole. “Make me come. Let me.”

“You know you can’t before tomorrow night.” He bit the side of her breast in warning, pulling her tingling skin between his teeth, sucking hard, leaving a mark. “Don’t make me make you wait longer.”

Rey’s eyes rolled back in her head. There it was, suddenly, another memory. Kylo was wearing the white robes of an ascetic, still gangly and big-eared but a little taller, teenaged, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor of a hut, surrounded by similarly dressed boys. They were all chanting rounds of “Deny, deny, deny!” and “No emotion, no ignorance, no passion!” The man with the metal hand stalked among them, kicking the children’s spines when they slumped, correcting the posture of their exhausted limbs, and screaming, “There is peace! There is knowledge! There is serenity!” in apoplectic counterpoint to the children’s chants.

Back in his parents’ bed, in his mother’s dress, he pulled her belly down against his, grinding her pelvis on his hip bone, grabbing handfuls of her ass in his big hands, smothering his face with her tits, making lewd smacking and sucking sounds as he tore into her like a starving beast. She felt like an animal, writhing and crying on all fours, being suckled and mauled, dragged and positioned how he wanted her, penned up, having no control of her own body, no control of her own release. It wasn’t about whether she wanted it, it was about how good it felt. How she needed it. He had taught her that.

Another vision came on fast. Teenage Kylo in a similar hut lined with bunks, silently touching himself under the sheets while the other boys slept. Imagining that he wasn’t so alone. What would that feel like? He opened his eyes as he was about to come and the man with the skeletal hand loomed over him. His hand and the sword he held glinted in the dark. This was his uncle, she suddenly knew. He swung down at his nephew, screaming about darkness and someone else’s power and keeping yourself pure. Then all the huts were burning and Kylo was gone.

And another vision. She was on the ground, in the mud, looking up at Kylo as the rain came down from the dark night sky. He wore a dark gray officer’s uniform, buttoned and trim and bestial. A gas mask covered his face under his metal helmet, but she knew it was him. The long red flame of his Wechselapparat cut through the chest of a man directly over her head, who fell on top her as he called out in his death throes. She shoved his body aside. Lightning flashed. They were in no man’s land, a forest of bloated corpses and ashy mud and naked, toothy tree stumps, littered with trenches where men burrowed and cowered like vermin.

Six hulking men swarmed around Kylo, similarly gas-masked and uniformed, Mausers drawn, prowling in defensive positions. Rey stood up and backed away from them instinctively, shivering in the rain. All around them lay death. They had littered the earth with it. These were the same six men who had blocked her on the front steps that day she tried to leave the tower.

Kylo’s spine suddenly snapped straight and his head pivoted in her direction. Despite the mask she could feel his eyes tearing into her. After a long, tense moment he stepped toward her slowly in the rain, like a hunter toward his prey.

“Looking around, are we?” Kylo asked, but it wasn’t a question.

Rey closed her eyes and she was back in the four-poster bed, curtains drawn close around their little world of sexual obsession, pinned in place by his arms and chest and legs and mouth, trapped by his intention.

“You little fuck,” he glowered up at her, mouth open around her wet nipple, dark eyes burning, fingernails digging into her aching, hickeyed skin. “You thought you could penetrate my mind? Probe my psyche, my secrets, my weakness? Who taught you to do that?”

She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, bucking, wiggling, curling her arms up toward herself.

He flipped her over onto her back and bit down hard on her breast, twisting his chin and digging in, jabbing with his tongue like a knife.

“You want to know who I am?” he sneered. He pinned her down into the sheets, looming over her, one big hand on her throat. All she could see she was him. “I told you our connection works both ways. I’ve been sifting through your mind and I know exactly what you are, _ma poubelle_. I told you, I see you.”

Rey started to cry. She didn’t want to be seen.

He choked her. “This is what you fucking get.”

More visions flooded her in a wave of nausea, her own memories but not from her own perspective.

A scrawny little girl in a sunny doorway cried and cried, held back by her mother’s shaking hand, as a man in military uniform trudged away. Even in this objective version of her memory, she couldn’t see her father’s face. It was her only recollection of him, and now it was Kylo’s, too.

A hole in the ground in a potter’s field, poorly filled in with loose dirt, weeds thrown on top. There was no money for flowers and no one who wanted to buy them, other than the little tween girl who was alone now for the rest of her life. A priest stood over the grave but he wouldn’t say any words for her mother’s soul. Unkar Plutt’s fat hand held her little one as he led her away. “She did what she had to,” he grumbled, “and so will you.”

That room. That room. Faded, peeling wallpaper. Unkar’s “boardinghouse”. Locked in, alone always. Feeling most alone when men came and lay with her. She knew they paid Unkar for it, but it was very important to her that she didn’t actually know that. She told herself that they were family, and this was what people did, and her parents were coming back for her.

Outside the memory, Kylo kissed her breast.

But in her head, he showed her herself a little older, face dirty and tear-streaked, growing body gaunt and hungry but finally big enough to fight back. She was standing, shaking, over a man in her narrow bed whose neck she’d somehow snapped from across the room. Then she was out in the streets, barely recognizable underneath all the grime, dressed in rags, hiding and scurrying and scrounging, eating and living in other people’s refuse. Still fighting to be left alone, to never be touched again.

Back in bed, as she sobbed, Kylo took her hand in his and held it up for her to look at, resting his head between her tender breasts and blinking up at her as he played with the neckline of his mother’s gown. “Have you figured it out yet? How you killed him without touching him?”

“Stop,” she begged weakly.

“But I thought you wanted to share,” he pouted. “We’re not done yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upping the chapter count because I can’t stop making everything porn, and so it is taking longer to get to the point. Not sorry though. We are going to be all fucked out by the end of this and we are going to like it. 
> 
> The only thing I quote from in this chapter is [the Jedi Code](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jedi_Code), which I (not so) lightly manipulated for my own purposes. 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Special Interest, "Street Pulse Beat"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHh_H5GQTCs)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mild medical kink, vaginal dilation, rim job/anal play, mild exhibitionism, very brief gagging, dubcon, good ol' mind control/manipulation, implied violence, male arrogance, women are always right, more magico-religious mumbo jumbo 
> 
> Lo and behold, it's yet another holiday weekend. Happy toppling of the fascist Cheeto, everybody! Let's celebrate with KYLO REN'S MAGIC SCIENCE DONG.

Kylo was making people in the laboratory. Rey knew he was. His clanging and buzzing and sawing and hacking and cursing floated down the twisted staircase and through the forlorn hallways to her, no matter which room she was in. She could feel the exhaustion that he refused to give in to, and his pride and wonderment at finally having done it. Spontaneous generation. _Lebensmagnetismus_. Their connection didn’t enable her to see what he was doing, but it let her see what he was feeling, no matter how far away from each other they were. Even when he was out with his men on their now daily excursions into the dark woods, still she could sense what was going on inside him. It was stronger when they were physically closer, however, and strongest when they were touching.

He marched out with them every day after lunch, leaving her in the library for hours with a pile of books and a list of passages to read about alchemy, anatomy, and astronomy, from authors like Paracelsus, Albertus Magnus, van Helmont, and Mesmer. Eventually, it became interesting. Nobody had ever wanted to teach her things before.

When he returned to the tower, in the late afternoons, he took her up to the laboratory and undressed her for tests. He made her lie back on a metal-framed, leather-padded examination table-chair, with her feet in stirrups. Then he placed a cold metal speculum inside her cunt and left it there, stretching her.

“To prepare you for my cock,” he loved to leer down at her and say, in his stupid smock, with his flat round goggles on his forehead. She hated the arrogance of it, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. Meanwhile he examined the rest of her naked body, bending down every so often to crank her a little further open. It was almost uncomfortable, but it also felt kind of satisfying. He didn’t have to restrain her anymore.

The examination table-chair was a worrying and recent addition to the laboratory. It said things about her future here, if she would listen to it. Just as worrying was the assortment of surgical instruments on the counters. It multiplied every day. Curved needles, catgut, scalpels, bone saws, hemostats, retractors, all caked in blood and tissue, flecked with dirty bone. And the murky formaldehyde jars full of organs and limbs kept changing in color and contents, constantly being used and refilled. The big glass bulbs that used to hang from the ceiling, full of filaments and liquids, were slowly disappearing and soon would all be gone. She didn’t know where they’d gone or what they were for, but she knew they were part of it somehow. The holes she watched Hux dig under the leafless trees weren’t body-sized anymore. Only parts were left to bury from whatever they were doing.

As she sat in the chair with her pussy dilating, he used calipers to measure the growth of her fingernails and toenails, and her hair down her back, and various pockets of fatty tissue on her body. He took copious notes, in impossibly tiny handwriting, with a pencil and pad of paper he kept in the pocket of his smock, and he took lots of samples from her body which he then put in beakers and flasks. He drew her blood, made her spit into test tubes, scraped scuzz off her tongue onto a glass slide. She wondered what he did with the samples, but never asked.

His examinations always ended with a close study of her cervical mucus. This, too, he collected and saved for later. She’d be aching inside, panting from the slow stretching, as he knelt between her open legs, peering up into her, swabbing her inner walls. He always described it to her in excruciatingly clinical detail. She hated hearing about it, which he loved.

“Leukorrhea,” he said today, looking up at her and smiling like a freak. “Sticky and dry. High viscosity. Your menses are imminent.”

“I could have told you that,” Rey sighed, enjoying the stretch.

Kylo frowned at her. “No. You couldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cramps started this morning. It’ll be here late tonight.”

“Not quite. I can tell you, with scientific precision, that you’ll experience the onset of menorrhea two days from now.”

She wiggled her hips, just a little, and shook her head.

He pushed his gloved, sticky fingers into her mouth and glared at her struggling throat as she gagged on her own taste. “You cannot challenge empirical data with mere woman’s intuition.”

†††

At night, as she lay in bed trying not to wait for him, she heard the groans and cries of the lonely creatures he was creating, guttural and blubbering, tongues that had died being made to express pain again. He was stitching together different parts from different people to match the vision in his head of what a person could be.

And that’s what he would have done to her, if she’d really been dead when Hux found her. She was having trouble remembering what she’d been doing in the graveyard that night, along with a lot of other details from life before the tower. She even wondered sometimes whether she really didn’t know her last name, or if she’d just made that up to deter Kylo. Not that any of it mattered.

It was easier to remember, and to care, when he was farther away from her, and especially when he wasn’t touching her. But tonight was a third night, which meant Maker would let her come when the clocks struck twelve, and though he wasn’t here yet, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except thoughts of his hands, his mouth. His cock, his cock, his cock. Her Pavlovian panties were sopping.

A loud thud floated up the staircase, a soldier yelled, and the groaning subsided momentarily. There were always troops in the tower now. Though Rey didn’t see them very often, she heard the clacking of their boots in unison up and down the central steps, their shouts of coordination with each other, their snarling subjugation of these unnatural new creations. She never asked Kylo about it, knew not to.

Suddenly he burst into her bedroom, eyes irate, long black hair pasted across his sweaty brow, his breathing shallow and loud. He slammed the door shut behind him, tore off his smock, and started throwing books around the room, pulling them off her shelves with the life force. When the bookshelf itself started to topple over, Rey raised her own powerful hand and commanded it to stay where it was. He grunted and pushed harder with his mind, enjoying the struggle. Rey moaned softly in pleasure, even wetter now that he was here, and he lost control.

Sighing, he strode to the bedside to scold her. “I already told you. You can’t fight or wound anyone with the life force. There’s no point in trying. You’ll only weaken your own reserves.”

“But maybe I’m an exception.” She arched her back and stretched luxuriously, like a cat, as he loomed over her. “I fought you with it. I threw you down on the floor in your laboratory.”  


“No,” he explained. “No. You’re not remembering right. That didn’t happen.”

She knew he must be correct, but shook her head, not wanting to admit it.

“Always fighting me,” he rumbled. “You haven’t been touching yourself, have you? I could smell you as soon as I walked into this room.”

“No, no,” she cried, squeezing her legs together. She’d wanted to. She wished she had. But she knew she couldn’t. That was for him.

“We’ll see.” He studied her face, then roughly pulled the sheets off her. “Get on your stomach.” She gulped as she did so, listening for more instructions. “Kneel. Ass in the air. No, face down. ”

She felt his weight join hers on the mattress, and his big hands spreading her knees apart. “We have to throw these panties out, _ma poubelle_. You’ve ruined them.” He tutted. “All this mess and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Maker ran his broad rough hands from her waist down to her shoulders, surveying his territory. As he slowly made his way back up to her ass, he straddled one of her calves and rocked his heavy cock into the back of her thigh, up and down, hard and slow.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Let me touch it. Just let me see it.”

He was squeezing and spreading her through her panties, pushing the damp fabric up inside her with his fingers, stroking the outside of her, scratching an itch inside her that just kept growing. Still he didn’t say anything.

“Let me touch your cock,” the monster begged.

He bunched up her panties in his fist, pulling them tight like a cord between her lips, tugging them against her entrance in tandem with his thrusts into her thigh.

It hurt just right. “Oh God,” she moaned.

“Yes,” he said.

She felt his hands behind her, unbuttoning his pants, releasing his girth.

“Please please please,” she caterwauled, arching her back, clutching the sheets. “Give me it.”

“So needy,” Maker gasped, stroking himself, “wanting what you can’t have. Don’t you feel how strong your life force has become? You’re almost there. I can’t fuck you now. That would set the whole magnetism in motion.”

She could feel the movement of his hand on his cock. It wasn’t fair. She tried to grind her ass back into him, making him dig her panties up into her cunt more than she could bear. “Please. Please. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, you’ll take it. You’ll fucking take it,” he growled, and bit the back of her shoulder, leaning forward, then bent back again and tore her ruined panties off, spreading her cheeks apart with both hands, bringing his mouth down to her tightly puckered orifice.

She trembled and tried to crawl away. Not there. Why did he always have to try to scare her?

His hands clamped around her upper thighs, trapping her, thumbs keeping her spread. “I know you never liked it when they touched you here,” he said, his breath on her asshole warm, tingling, disconcerting.

She’d never liked any of it. He knew that. He’d seen her memories.

“But you’ll like it when I do it.” He softly kissed her, right there, lips lingering, gently massaging her sensitive, wrinkled skin. “Won’t you.”

“Don’t,” the monster whispered.

He lapped at her with his tongue, just a little, against the outside of her. “I think I’ll make you like it.” His voice reverberated in the flesh he wasn’t supposed to touch. “I think I’ll make you come without even touching that messy pussy.”

She stifled a groan and tried to get down flat on her stomach, but he kept her on her knees, ass in his face, head in the sheets. “Maker,” she pleaded. She could hear him jerking himself off behind her.

He shushed her and started swirling his tongue in slow circles just inside the rim of her asshole. She gasped. It felt like something was blooming inside her there, sensation opening up, forgotten flesh coming to life. So wet and soft. So full, though it was only the tip of his tongue, and barely inside her. He kept going around and around, just slowly enough for her to feel every wrinkle of her tight skin being softly opened, then tucked back again. Petals furling and unfurling. They stayed like that for a long time, leaning into each other’s bodies and minds, feeling and feeding each other through their connection. The distant screams and howls of the creatures he’d concocted were none of their concern.

“Imagine what it will be like when I finally fuck you,” he murmured against her asshole, withdrawing his tongue, using his thumb to rub her open instead. “Your cunt, the IX°. If this is what it does to you when I touch you with just my fingers and my mouth, what will the most powerful part of me do to you?” His tongue returned to her rim, swirling in even slower, even gentler circles. She heard strangled moaning and realized it was coming from her own throat. “We’ll crush the world. Then recreate it. I'll destroy you, remake you. Come inside you, all over you. My monster, my creation. The entire world will see.”

Her legs started to shake.

“That’s it,” he encouraged her. “And imagine after that, when at last I fuck you here, _ma poubelle_.” He kissed her asshole. “The XI°. The kingdom of heaven.”

She felt something cold on her cunt, and looked back between her legs to see a small glass flask. Last time he’d used a thimble to collect her cum, and it had overflowed. She cringed.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured, his head still down near her ass, watching her wet throbbing pussy. “We want to produce these secretions in as large a quantity as possible. They’re direct carriers of the magnetic aspects of the life force. It’s sacred. Magical. This is how the world is made.”

She thought she heard thudding, coming towards them.

He returned his lips to the place where she wasn’t supposed to want to be touched. “Come for me, my creation.”

Tension fluttered behind her clit, down deep and rising up, making her entire body clench—

Then her bedroom door burst abruptly open.

“ _Master, Master, he’s here!_ ” Hux panted in French.

Kylo leaned back on his knees, keeping one hand on her lower back and the other on the flask. “ _What? How?_ ”

“ _He’s here,_ ” Hux repeated, taking in the scene before him hungrily.

Rey tried to slide back under the bedding, to curl into a ball and cover herself, but Kylo kept her on her knees, face down, ass up.

“Hush. Let him see,” he scolded her. “He can’t touch you.” Then he switched back to French. “ _The benefactor? Are you sure?_ ”

Hux nodded. “ _He’s here with his entire retinue._ ”

“ _But they shouldn’t be here for two more days!_ ” She felt apprehension and panic whirling through Kylo, threatening to burst his façade of control. His hands were hard as they gripped her.

“ _You were—we were wrong,_ ” Hux said. “ _The ritual will commence late tonight, not two days from now. Snoke’s messenger says to begin your lustrations immediately. The black moon rises, and the blood red sun to meet it. Union is nigh._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, there was not supposed to be any porn in this chapter. So how did it end up with vaginal dilation and a rim job? I blame MadScilo. He really needs to bust a nut. I promise that is coming very very soon. VERY SOON >:) 
> 
> I quoted and took ideas (like the cum thimble) for Kylo's pillow talk from [these sexually explicit 1926 letters](https://www.parareligion.ch/2007/aha/schwester.htm), written by German occultist Heinrich Tränker to a nun who went by the name Soror Jehewida. Type the URL into [Google Translate](https://translate.google.com/) and it will translate the entire web page. All the authors Kylo has Rey read are mentioned in either _Frankenstein_ , or in the work of the German occultists that I'm basing the sex magick stuff on, or both. I recommend looking up the authors, they're fascinating. [Here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_magnetism) is a wiki on some of what Mesmer's work was about, including _Lebensmagnetismus_. [Here](https://imgur.com/gallery/Etvp4) is an example of what a 1930s examination table-chair looked like. And [here](https://www.etsy.com/dk-en/listing/510933281/surgical-tool-vaginal-speculum-vintage?show_sold_out_detail=1&ref=nla_listing_details) is an example of the kind of speculum Kylo uses on Rey, called Cusco's speculum. 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, "Crumbling Castle"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLP8rFrL1W0)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: None, for once. It does get weird though, don't worry :) 
> 
> Putting the chapter vibes at the start this time. Otherwise I'm not going to say too much else. We're finally getting into my favorite part of the fic. 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [The Velvet Underground, "Venus in Furs"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwzaifhSw2c)

They led Rey in solemn procession through dark tunnels of stone, lit only by the flaming torches they carried, winding through the bowels of the mountain underneath the tower. Kylo strode at the head of his six chosen men, his knights, who hemmed her in on all sides as they walked and walked and walked, taking many different turns down many twisting passages. This wasn’t just a tunnel, but a tunnel system underneath the tower, and Rey, who had often wondered where and how so many men were housed and fed, suspected that this was the world the troops inhabited.

They stopped twice along their trek to perform ablutions. In the first small, dank stone room they stepped into, the knights placed their torches in wall sconces, then disrobed Rey and bathed her. Kylo silently and imperiously observed, clasping his hands in front of him and looking down his long nose at them, filling and blocking the doorway with his massive frame. His men were chanting in the same weird language that Kylo used at her bedside every morning, not in unison but in a kind of call and response to each other. They very carefully unbuttoned and removed her long white nightgown, never touching her skin with theirs. He’d already torn off her underclothes, in bed less than an hour ago.

As she stood naked in the middle of the chamber, they knelt around her and scrubbed her body, pressing silken sponges into her sensitive skin, gently but firmly, still very careful to never let their skin touch hers. Kylo hummed in approval or warning as he saw fit, never moving or saying a word, but always in control. She could hear him in her head, telling her what a dirty girl she was, that he knew how much she liked it, that he knew exactly what she wanted, as his knights paid particular attention to the mess he’d made on her inner thighs and cunt and ass. In order for none of them to touch her skin, they all had to touch her at once, helping each other by using the sponges to hold up her ass cheeks, her tits, spreading her arms, her legs, her folds for each other. They must have been able to see how her body was reacting to their ministrations. She knew Kylo could.

They drew the water with which they washed her from a large stone basin on a pedestal, carved out of the stone wall of the room. Around the rim of the stoup, beetles and snakes curled and crawled around swirling stars and swords. Chiseled into the wall over the font was an image of a scarab taking flight into the night sky, eclipsing the face of the moon with its wings. Holy water trickled from the moon into the basin, like tears into cupped hands.

At last they dressed her in a diaphanous white robe, pearlescent and translucent, not a dress but a full-body veil, clothing her figure but at the same time disclosing it. Kylo nodded and they marched on, surrounding her again as he led the way.

After some time they came to another chamber, a mirror image of the first, where it was Rey’s turn to watch as the men undressed and anointed Kylo, resuming their mystic choral chanting, careful once again not to make skin-to-skin contact with him. She had never seen any part of his body but his face, neck, and hands. She was hungry for it.

First they untucked his black quilted tunic and lifted it over his head, so that he stood before her in only his black high-waisted pants and a proud, knowing smile. She ogled his massive chest, pecs hefty, nipples a softer pink than she thought they’d be, flesh pale and smooth and polished over knots of tight muscle and scar tissue. Next they took off his black knee-high boots, which involved a lot of unstrapping and unbuckling and unlacing, four men holding up his huge frame while the other two yanked off one boot at a time. He stared into her eyes all the while, watching her watch him. They peeled his leggings down to his ankles and then set about removing his tented black briefs, which was especially difficult to do without touching him. All six of them had to pull his waistband down at the same time, revealing him to her like a present being unwrapped. His cock sprang out as soon as it could, already more than half-hard, flushed pink and curved up, like a war horn, away from his tight balls and dark curls. He was long and thick and heavy. She could practically feel the weight of his cock, in her hand, on her belly, on her lips, sliding inside her everywhere a man could enter. Nothing would be barred to him. Kylo watched Rey’s reaction, her roving eyes, clenched thighs, bitten lips, fidgeting fingers, with satisfaction and promise in his glower.

The stone basin in this room bore the same design as the previous one, of swords and slithering things and celestial bodies, but the carving on the wall behind it was different. Here, before a jagged burning sun, a snake coiled its sleek, thick body around an upside-down egg, dripping holy water from its fangs like poison.

As they chanted and scrubbed and scoured him, Kylo filled her mind with images of her joining the knights in their ministrations, her mouth cleaning every part of his body their silken sponges touched, his men’s hands then moving to her body, making her moan on her knees at his feet, her hands all over him and their hands all over her, him snapping their necks and spilling their blood on her white-veiled body, taking her right there on the stone floor, in the dark and torchlight, amidst their broken corpses, making life with each other in the death throes of the vanquished, rutting in carnage, coating spilled blood with cum, marking the world and each other with their seed.

But when she shook her head, overcome by lust and need, she was still just standing there, watching them adorn him in a thick black robe and nothing else. He was as naked underneath his robe as she was under hers, though the heavy cloth of his was as impenetrable to the eye as hers was sheer.

When they resumed their procession through the tunnels, no one said a word. No one looked anywhere but straight ahead. There was a reverential feeling in the air, an almost palpable importance to every step they took. Rey knew instinctively that if she stumbled or made any kind of mistake it would be a bad omen. She hadn’t spoken since they entered the tunnels, had known not to.

A glowing red mouth to the outside world began to swim in the distant dark. As they neared it, Rey heard the murmurous din of many men’s hushed voices, and the low thrumming of drums, and the tuning of stringed and wind instruments trying to match each other’s tones. The smell of wood and earth and smoke and blood grew stronger with every step. She felt tension in her bones and tingling under her skin.

Eventually, they emerged into a large theater that had been built into the hillside. Tiers of seating rose high up around an oblong central stage made of packed earth, surrounded by looming trees and spangled sky. It was a black night, no moon to be seen, only stars, but all stars, the Milky Way prostrating itself over Rey’s head. She clutched her belly through the white veil, looking up and breathing in cold Black Forest air for the first time in weeks. Her menstrual cramps were starting in earnest now, which meant she’d be bleeding heavily soon.

The theater, though rustic, was well made, and looked new. Half the tiered seats were carved out of the hillside, the other half were built of dirt and rough-hewn timber planks. All were filled with Kylo’s soldiers, dressed in their black uniforms and face-concealing helmets. Was this what they had been doing on their daily excursions with him? Building this place?

Opposite the mouth of the tunnel stood a large earthen throne. A short but steep flight of steps led up to it and jagged rays jutted out from its sides. In it sat a ghastly tall man, taller even than Kylo. The benefactor. He wore a gold woven robe that fell open down his impossibly pale and sunken chest, gleaming in the glow of the torches that lined the theater. His face was old and broken. Attendants in red armor and helmets stood around him, poised and attentive, each holding a different deadly weapon. Rey felt the gruesome old man’s eyes examining her veiled body like fingers.

When at last his gaze shifted to Kylo, all the men and music in the theater fell silent, as if an invisible signal had been given. Even the insects and night creatures ceased their noise.

“I am the Lord of Lords,” the man atop the throne proclaimed in a thick, gravelly voice. “Cower before me, and be abased.”

Kylo knelt on one knee and bowed his head. No one else moved. Everyone watched the exchange between the two of them in stillness and silence.

“Hast thou done as I have asked?” the Lord intoned. “Chosen an island of stone? Fortified it with a fearless host? Dug it about with enginery of war?”

“Aye, my Lord of Strength,” Kylo’s voice rang out. “My tower pierces the burning sky.”

“Then thou shalt be my war-engine, and I shall be the force and vigor of thine arms, and courage will be thine armor.” Snoke raised his grizzled chin. “Hast thou worshipped me with fire and blood? Hast thou worshipped me with swords and with spears? Them that seek to entrap thee, to overthrow thee, hast thou destroyed them utterly?”

“Aye, my Lord of Vengeance,” Kylo called again, head still bowed. “Thy light is in me, and its red flame is as a sword in my right hand.”

“Then I shalt give thee of thine enemies’ flesh to eat, and these will breed lust and power of lust in thee.” The firelight danced in his ancient eyes. “And hast thou brought me a sacrifice? A woman to awaken the lust and worship of the Snake, so that soul of God and Beast shall mingle in the priest?”

“Aye, my Lord of Righteousness. In my left hand the Scarlet Concubine awaits.”

“Then to me make reverence, to me come through tribulation of ordeal. My altar is of open earth: pour upon it blood and cum, rich and fresh, essences of life and death, a sacrifice to stain the tomb.” The old man raised his long thin arms in golden cloth to the starry sky.

Drums began pounding again, in a series of interlocking rhythms. The rows of men all around and above them started chanting in that mysterious language, and the red-robed attendants hissed a kind of melody. Kylo stood and faced Rey, staring down at her intently. She tried to peer into his mind through their connection, but she couldn’t understand the swirling tangle that she saw. He turned from her and walked into the center of the ring toward a raised rectangular platform, looking back at her, expecting her to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! This shit is pretty out there, right? Does it work? Are you completely lost, or does it make some kind of sense? 
> 
> The ritualistic exchange between Kylo and Snoke at the end of this chapter was taken and twisted from [Ch. 3 of _The Book of Law_](http://lib.oto-usa.org/libri/liber0220.html#chap3), one of many sacred texts written by [Aleister Crowley](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleister_Crowley).
> 
> This fic was inspired by the following words of James Frazer in [_The Golden Bough_](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3623/3623-h/3623-h.htm): “the analogy between the magical and the scientific conceptions of the world is close. . . . Both of them open up a seemingly boundless vista of possibilities to him who knows the secret causes of things and can touch the secret springs that set in motion the vast and intricate mechanism of the world.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Major Character Death (see bottom of end notes for explanation with spoiler), oral sex, blood play (period blood and other), knife play, degradation, violence, explicit noncon but also of course dubcon, restraints (of a sort), mild self-harm (ritualistic), very public exhibitionism, really weird religious shit 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving! Whether you celebrate the holiday or not, I am thankful for all of you reading along. I am especially grateful to [EnviousHera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnviousHera/pseuds/EnviousHera/works?fandom_id=6048501), who gave me so much encouragement all week to hammer through this chapter. Click the link, read her works! She's the baddest bitch around.
> 
> Putting the chapter vibes up here again, to get you in the sex magick mood:  
> [Silver Apples, "Dancing Gods"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlBSS1Rsg2A)
> 
> O MALE DIVINITY!

Rey stepped slowly from the mouth of the tunnel into the arena, surprised, with each press of her soft bare feet upon the hard packed earth, by the direction in which she was heading. Toward not Kylo at the altar beckoning, nor Snoke on his throne of dirt she trod, but toward the throng of musicians, robed and masked in red, playing their drums and zills and pipes and zithers.

There had to be an exit behind them, at the far end of the stage. She didn’t see one anywhere else, and all these thousands of men had to have gotten in here somehow. She was going to make it out into the forest, run wild and free, faster than any of them with their heavy armor and weapons and boots, and be alone and live alone and never see him again.

On her body she felt the scrutiny of the Benefactor and the raking eyes of the soldiers. They didn’t know, yet, that she wasn’t heading towards Kylo’s outstretched hand and narrowed eyes. His mind was still a black impenetrable whirl, but he’d look into her head and see. He’d know. Any moment now. No more time. No more waiting.

Rey broke suddenly into a run, veering off to her left, clutching the flimsy white veil up around her thighs. She clung to the wall that ringed the arena until men started leaning and reaching over it, shouting at each other, grabbing at her body. Straight into the crowd of musicians then she bolted, who were still playing, though discordantly, amidst the ruckus. Not the drums though, the drums were relentless, thrumming like her heart throbbing as she ran.

As they scattered around her, she saw that there was no way out. No doorway behind them, just continuous, unbroken dirt wall. No fucking way out. She screamed and whirled around, scanning the place frantically. The only way in or out was the way she’d come, back through the tunnels, the unlit labyrinthine world that led right back into the tower. A world that they all knew and knew how to trap her in. Once again, he’d left her free to wander because there was no freedom, no escape.

“No one touches her.” Kylo did not shout, but his voice shook the ground.

All movement and music stopped. The troops settled back in their seats uneasily. The drummers and pipers and the rest moved away from her like oil from water.

She could feel his gaze boring into her, could feel how he clenched his fists at his sides pretending they were around her throat, but she refused to look at him.

The only sound in the arena was the rattling of his teeth. Rey pushed away the thought of his naked body tensed to pounce under the rich black robe.

“No one touch her,” he said again through gritted teeth, and strode toward her.

She backed into the wall behind her, but that didn’t help. When he got close she smacked his arms away and lashed out at his face with her fingernails, digging in and pulling at his skin wherever she found purchase, grunting and clawing, huffing and tearing. Everybody was watching. He clenched his jaw and took it, reached though the frenzy of her arms unfazed, grabbing her around the waist. She pushed and scrabbled at his hands but he just squeezed her tighter, like a snake. She tried to kick him but he was too close, pressing in, bearing down on her, so she kneed him, hard, but that hurt her more than it hurt his thick solid thighs. His smile was grim as he shoved her into the wall and hefted her up, crumpling her into a ball in his arms. She wished she could use the life force to fight him. What was the point of it if she couldn’t use it to defend herself? But he’d made it clear that she couldn’t, that it didn’t work like that.

Once he had her properly crushed against him, shoulders and knees folded into his chest at an angle that kept her from unstretching and striking at him again, he turned and carried her back across the theater to the altar, his face thunder, his steps earthquakes.

“Thou toldst me thou had broken her. That she was ready.” The man in gold stared down at them from his seat on high.

“I have. She is,” Kylo insisted, pausing in the middle of the stage. Every time she writhed he held her tighter and his head higher.

“Dost thou fail?” Snoke creaked.

Rey could feel the sulking in Kylo’s silence.

“Art thou sorry? Is there fear in thine heart?”

“I will fix it, Benefactor.”

“Bring her to me.”

He didn’t move. She sensed within him the coiling temptation to attack.

“Be not a fool.” There was steel in the old man’s voice, a spine that would not be snapped. “I am thy Overlord. Thou art the Holy Chosen One only so long as I choose thee. I can turn thee into nothing just as easily. Bring her here, boy.”

Kylo jerked forward, almost against his own will, until he stopped at the bottom of the dirt steps leading up to the throne, looking down at her rather than up at Snoke. He was sending too many images into her head at once, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell her something, or letting her in by accident. Images of the two of them fucking, fighting, smearing each other in blood, killing Snoke, killing his soldiers, sucking on each other’s bodies, grinding on each other, looming over a gray-haired man in an engineer’s uniform, her holding him down and Kylo stabbing him in the chest, their hands and mouths tearing at each other’s bodies, laughing, crying, consuming the world.

“Art thou going to put her down?”

“No.” Kylo’s grip on her tightened, and his burning glare finally drew her eyes up to meet his. The blood from her claw marks was smeared all over his face, his pupils were dilated and wild, and his skin was flushed from fighting her.

The old man stared at him for a long, tense moment. “Our smitten Priest,” he chuckled at last, humorlessly. “Very well. Look at me, girl.”

She did, begrudgingly, but only because anything was better than looking at Kylo in that moment. She immediately regretted it. Up close, the man’s face was a sallow and withered pit of scars and pockmarks, his eyes a weak watery blue like ice when you’re trapped underneath it.

“Thou art my grandchild,” he smiled with broken teeth. “I am the Ruler and Creator of thine Universe, because I am thy Maker’s Lord. He Made thee, but I Made him. Thou art his Child and his Bride, and he is thy Sire and thy Groom, in this the Unholiest of Unions which we now commence.” With those last words, his voice boomed throughout the theater. “Let the Supreme Ritual be rightly performed. A blood feast for the new moon, the first night of the Maker-God and his Bride-Child. A feast unto the pleasure of the uttermost delight. Art thou ready to be reborn, O Crimson Whore?”

Rey curled closer into Kylo’s black-robed chest, trying to shrink, wanting to hide in his warmth. A drop of blood she’d drawn from him dripped onto her white-veiled breast. She looked up. He was still watching her. They all were.

“Thou hast no choice, my child,” the old man continued grandly. “Thou art going to die tonight. And in death thou shalt not die, but live. Oh, thou shalt long for death. ‘Ah! Ah! Death! Death!’ This will be thy cry, and we shall drink it from thy lips.”

The wind rushed through the spruces. Silence otherwise, as if the entire arena were holding its breath.

With a nod, Kylo turned and carried her back toward the altar, a rectangular earthen platform in the middle of everything, waist-high, ringed by torches, where his guard of six knights awaited them. He laid her down, letting his hands linger on her body, groping her openly as his men trapped her under their hands, which were now gloved in leather. Once they had her pinned they knelt beside the altar, heads bowed down to the ground in deference to him and reverence of her. They held her down on her back, spread eagle, hair loose and wild around her face, thin white veil clinging to the film of sweat on her body.

Kylo stepped forward to the foot of the altar, towering over her, fulminating at her feet. The theater remained silent, all listening to Rey’s heavy breathing as she struggled against the gloved grip of the knights.

His eyes burned into her. The light of the torches circling the altar cast dancing shadows on his face as he murmured to his men, “Slide her closer to me. Bend her knees.”

“Closer, closer, closer, closer,” all the soldiers in their seats started chanting, one great resounding echo.

As his men complied, Rey thrashed in their grasp, gnashing her teeth at him. She was spread wide open this way, vulnerable to the view of everyone, and to whatever he wanted to do to her. She screamed at the futility of her efforts to free herself.

He moved forward, leaning between her spread legs.

The drums began pounding again, louder and more urgent than before. The men continued chanting, “Closer, closer, closer, closer.”

He placed his hands on her ankles, hitching his thumbs under the hem of her veil and slowly drawing it up to her knees.

The tambourines and finger-cymbals started clashing again, adding to the din.

He drew his hands, and the veil, down her thighs, digging his fingers into the sticky flesh he uncovered as he went. She tried to kick him but it only drew him closer.

“Scared little thing. I’m not going to punish you,” he said, staring down between her legs.

“Punish, punish, punish, punish.” His speech resounded in the mouths of all his men.

He knelt, on his knees at the altar she lay upon, with her knees on either side of his head, gazing up close into the most private part of her, no longer private at all.

The zithers and flutes resumed their wailing.

“I’m going to destroy you,” he promised, low and deep.

“Destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy,” the arena hissed.

She was embarrassed by her whimpering. The way sound carried in the theater, everyone could hear it. And they knew what it meant.

He reached a hand out in front of his face and dipped it into her aching cunt, rubbing her entrance just long enough to make her remember the orgasm she’d been denied earlier. Then he drew his hand up her leg, smearing thick menstrual blood along the inside of her thigh. Rey tried to close her legs, to clamp down on his head and stop him, but his guards held her open firmly.

Kylo reached forward again, caressed her lips again, and drew more blood up her other thigh, breathing in the scent of her. It wasn’t just blood, but the wetness of her lust, that he elicited and spread over her flesh. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, continuing to anoint her with her own juices.

“Open, open, open, open.”

She tried to pretend that she was somewhere else, where she wasn’t being touched like this, and that she was someone else, who didn’t enjoy it.

“If you don’t open your eyes, I’ll have my men hold them open for you,” he threatened.

“Open, open, open, open.”

When she gave in and looked around again, she saw his burning eyes and fervid face between her legs, over the plains and valleys of her tits and belly, and above his head Snoke, reclined on his throne, hideous and sneering, and all around them the faceless crowd of thousands, leering men she couldn’t see behind their helmets, though they could see all of her, every inch of her spread for them.

Kylo, still down on his knees between her legs, played with the fluids on her thighs, teasing her, humiliating her, dipping inside her again and again, but never enough to bring real pleasure. With his long strong arms he pushed the veil up under her tits and painted big circles of blood on her belly, which trembled with need for him that she hoped he couldn’t sense, though she knew he did.

“Tell me, Child,” he drawled, “do you deserve my cock?”

“Do you, do you, do you, do you?”

She ignored him, and the throbbing between her legs. Or she tried to.

He rubbed into her belly some more, humming, watching the reactions of her pained face and dripping cunt. “I know you want it,” he intimated, “but do you deserve it?”

“Do you, do you, do you, do you?”

Rey tried not to cry. This was happening. In front of everybody. She wasn’t escaping. “No,” she sniffed.

“No, what?” he asked innocently, peering up at her over her mound.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“But you want it?” he pouted.

“Yes.” Her voice broke, her face crumpled.

“Say it.”

“Say it, say it, say it, say it.”

She started sobbing. He wasn’t going to stop until he broke her.

“Say it.” His voice dropped an octave.

“I want your cock, but I don’t deserve it,” she whispered. One of the knights’ hands on her arms tightened its grip, as if in consolation. Or possession.

Kylo raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t heard her quiet answer. Even though everyone in the arena could hear every little sound she made.

“Say it, say it, say it, say it.”

“I want your cock! But I don’t deserve it!” she blubbered.

“That’s right,” he cooed. “You don’t deserve it. Letting all these men look at you like this. What do they see?”

“They see, they see, they see, they see.”

He waited for an answer.

“Do they see a good girl?”

“They see, they see, they see, they see.”

She moaned and arched her back, but the guards shoved her down flat again.

“Tell me,” he rasped.

“No. They don’t.”

“Keep your eyes open. What do they see?”

“They see, they see, they see, they see.”

Her face contorted as he crooked one finger inside her. “A whore,” she whined.

“Ah,” Kylo sighed, breathing in the scent of her arousal, continuing to make a mess of her, staring down the length of her body into her eyes. “What if you could earn my cock inside your cunt? Would you like that, Whore?”

“Earn it, earn it, earn it, earn it.”

Rey looked around at all the men ogling her, the soldiers in their rows, Snoke on his throne. She had nothing left. “Yes, Maker.”

The music was like a storm all around them, drums of thunder, strings of lightning, flutes of rain.

He prodded her depths for a moment more before pulling back and muttering something to his men. They reacted immediately, standing up and rearranging her so that she lay sprawled out, her head hanging off the corner of the platform. Then they crouched and faced the ground again.

Slowly Kylo walked around the altar to her. She could feel the vibrations in the earth of every step that he took. From this angle she could only see half the arena, upside down, tiers and tiers of men, and above them the musicians playing, and above them the dirt, and below it all the Milky Way. Finally she felt the brush of fabric on her cheeks as he unpinned his thick black robe and let it fall open, his curved pink cock hard as hell, jutting up over her hanging face.

“Earn it, earn it, earn it, earn it.”

Kylo was waiting for something, hovering over her. At last she looked up at him. Staring into her eyes solemnly, he gathered the beading precum from his cock and reached down to her face, getting so close to her that she had to close her eyes. He then smeared her eyelids with his cum, sanctimoniously, anointing her with it. After he did so the men up in the seats hummed two notes in succession, the first low, the second lower, then ceased their chanting.

“Thus ends the VII° of Initiation, and begins the VIII°.” Snoke’s voice reverberated around the rows and rows of seats. “Behold, men of the _Primus Ordo Templi Occidentis_ , the black sky above you and the bright earth below. Where is the Moon? She is not in the sky. All the stars have come out in search of her lost beauty. For here she lies before us, prostrate on the earth. The new Moon, white and slender, has been torn from the sky by the blood red Sun, black and burning, who has risen to make her his.”

Rey felt the weight of thousands of eyes on her powerless, naked, dirty body, covered in blood and arousal, the veil bunched up around her heaving breasts and shoulders, the knights’ hands clamping her down. Kylo was all that she could see, his pale white mountain of a chest stretching to the sky, whence thick hair fell like black rain around his godly powerful face. She tried to close her eyes but they were too heavy and sticky with cum. She was trapped, exposed and forced open, in every way imaginable.

A dagger appeared in the air over her, long and thick, deadly and gleaming, with a black leather pommel that looked all too familiar. It was proffered by the hand of a knight now standing in the periphery of her vision, as tall and formidable and faceless behind his helmet as the rest. Kylo looked down into her eyes as he clasped it, nodding once. Yes. That dagger.

He sliced open his left wrist, a shallow slash that welled immediately with blood. “I am alone. There is no God in this land but Me,” he called out to the starry sky. “There is no worship but worship of Me.” He tore into his right wrist next, and turned his voice to his army. “Be strong, O men of men, First Order of the Temple of the Setting Sun, _Primus Ordo Templi Occidentis_! Veil not your vices in virtuous words: these vices are My worship. Lust, enjoy all things of sense and rapture. Eat. Fuck. Drink. Kill. For I am the Maker, I am the Taker.”

Blood ran down his hands onto Rey’s face as he rubbed his cock on her lips. He tipped her head all the way back into the wall of the altar, then took a half-step forward and forced himself down into her mouth, standing directly over her, balls hanging in her face.

This was what she’d been craving for weeks, to feel him, to know his girth and length and strength with her body. She closed her lips around his head, so soft and bulbous, salty, delicious, lapping underneath it with her tongue, pursing her lips around it tenderly like she was kissing it. He bobbed his hips gently, just inside her, relishing it as much as she did, just as desperate and hungry as she was, knowing everyone was watching and wanting it but only they were getting it. Only they understood.

Leaning forward over her he groped her body greedily, fresh blood streaming down his hands and mingling with the drying blood he’d already bathed her in, squeezing her tits so hard it hurt as he humped gently into her mouth, grabbing at her belly, her thighs, her shoulders, her waist, spreading blood and pain and pleasure everywhere.

“I am the Sun, yet I bring darkness to the world,” he shouted hoarsely. “I am the Begetter, yet I have come to lie with my Begotten. And through her body, through her death and birth, I shall regenerate the world.”

He drew a deep, stuttering sigh, like she’d never heard from him before, and muttered something incoherent. She drew him deeper into her mouth, wanting to please him, wanting to be full of him, and started sucking in earnest, working her cheeks. Her eyes watered and she choked a little, but in this position she had no gag reflex and he slid easily down her throat. She sucked and sucked and sucked, using her teeth a little, mindless with it, happy to work his shaft for hours. She tried to arch her back but his guards shoved her back down, tried to pump her hips but they kept her motionless, tried to clench her thighs but they held her pried open.

She couldn’t see anything but the expanse of him stretched over her, as if she were the earth and he the night sky. But she imagined what they all saw as they watched. Her face eclipsed within his sturdy thighs, her limbs laid out on a bed of dirt within a ring of torchlight, her body painted in primal patterns of commingled blood. Pinned down by six huge men who controlled the helpless writhing of her ecstasy. Possessed by a hulking demon beast who humped her head and groped her softness and made his desire hers. He was grunting and thrusting shamelessly, aided and abetted by an entire arena full of men armed and armored and ready to do his bidding. He truly was a God in this world. And what was she? What was he Making her?

Soon her mouth grew sore from having to open so wide for him, and her neck started cramping, and the blood pooling in her head made her dizzy. When she dared try to move her head away from him, he gripped her face in his bloody hands and pulled her further along his cock, pushing himself deeper and deeper down her throat, until her lips were fluttering around the base of him and his balls were blocking the air flow to her nose. She tried to beg him to stop, but could only slobber around his cock as he thrust ever faster and harder into her.

“The red Gleam is in my eyes,” he cried. “There is a Veil, and that Veil is black! It is the Veil of Sorrow, and the pall of Death.” He took up the dagger again, angling the sharp, death-bringing point of it down between her legs, his breath rasping as he traced her entrance lightly with the tip. “I am He who pierces the pall.”

Rey twitched her fingers and gurgled for help. That was all it was in her power to do. Kylo pressed the flat of the blade down against her mons, cold and hard, like him, tilting it back and forth, pressing one edge into her labia, then the other, pushing down just enough to draw small beads of blood before shifting away again. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t close her eyes, and she couldn’t see anything but the hard plane of his belly. The small bites of the sharp edge felt like stinging kisses, a physical manifestation of his obsession, digging into her body like he dug himself into her mind.

He dragged the knife slowly upward, meandering, cutting an intricate series of nicks into the soft skin of her belly in what felt like the winding shape of a snake, hissing between his teeth and pumping his cock down her throat as he worked. Rey felt death looming before her and orgasm threatening within her.

Clutching the pommel in his hand, he drew it upward over her chest, digging the point down into her flesh more sharply than before. He carved the outline of one breast slowly with the blade and bent down to kiss her between her tits, holding one in his hand and burying his face in her blood pouring forth, mouthing his way up the underside to her nipple, sucking softly, biting hard.

“I am the secret Serpent, coiled, about to spring,” he proclaimed as he pulled away from her wet flesh.

Finally, finally he eased his dick out of her throat.

Rey gasped and sputtered.

He stood up, mightily tall, covered in their blood and sweat, eyes rabid, hair a black cascading fright. His cock lunged upward over her like a war horn crying victory.

“I am Life, and the giver of Life!” He raised his gaze and the gleaming red dagger to the stars, pausing for an endless moment. Then, locking eyes with her, Kylo swooped down swiftly, howling as he thrust the blade directly into her heart, digging and twisting. “Yet therefore is the knowledge of Me the knowledge of Death.”

With her last breath Rey sighed relief, free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bear of a chapter to write, and a crazy week at work, so I updated later than usual. But in the future you can expect chapters to be published every weekend.
> 
> The _Primus Ordo Templi Occidentis_ is the cult that is the First Order in this fic. That's Latin for "the First Order of the Temple of the Setting Sun", and it's based on the name of the [_Ordo Templi Orientis_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ordo_Templi_Orientis). The religion of the _Primus Ordo_ is based on the O.T.O. as well, though I've changed a fair amount of things. The O.T.O. is where sex magick comes from. It originated in or around Germany at the turn of the 20th century. There were a lot of cults in that area at that time, and pretty much all of them focused on Aryanism and anti-Semitism. Not the O.T.O., however. All they cared about was dicks and sperm. They believed that all true religions were solar-phallic, that the sun is a dick. Fascinating stuff to read. 
> 
> VII° and VIII° are the 7th and 8th degrees of initiation. This is inspired by the O.T.O. as well. There was a whole [system of degrees you had to ascend through to become a true member of the order](https://www.parareligion.ch/2009/secret/secrets.htm), five of which were weird sex stuff. I switched the 7th and 8th degrees for this fic, so that VII° = anointment with blood and sexual fluids, and VIII° = adoration of the phallus, which I further changed to mean oral sex rather than masturbation. This system is also what IX° and XI° were referring to back in Ch. 7. 
> 
> [Zill](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zill) is the word for finger cymbals! Isn't that cool? And a [zither](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zither) is a kind of German folk guitar. 
> 
> The ritualistic language in this chapter is once again based on Aleister Crowley's _Book of Law_ , a.k.a. the _Liber AL vel Legis_. This time I drew mainly from [Ch. 2](http://lib.oto-usa.org/libri/liber0220.html#chap2). Crowley started out as part of the O.T.O., but the Liber is the sacred text for a religion he later founded called [Thelema](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thelema). I have also taken ideas for the _Primus Ordo_ from that religion. Crowley said the Liber was dictated to him by a divine, supernatural being. 
> 
> Major Character Death SPOILER:  
> Kylo kills Rey by stabbing her in the heart. She is dead. But he, as the one true resurrectionist, has the power to bring her back to life, and he will do so in the next chapter. With his magic science sex dong.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: flashbacks of sexual abuse (brief, not graphic; hand job and anal), angst, grief, she's dead, necrophilia, public sex, ritualistic sex, that's right he puts his PENIS in her VAGINA fucking finally, noncon noncon noncon, creampie, alcohol/drug use, getting groped politely by thousands of strangers one at a time, religious fanaticism, sex cult vs. virginity cult, god complex out the ass, war-torn countryside, emotional manipulation, the Daddy side of Maker kink (without the word Daddy)
> 
> This chapter is nucking futs. Good luck.
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Wind Atlas, "Eurydice's Chant"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq8KDH-TykY)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend who told me this weekend that noncon should not be written and it especially should not be shared, ever, with anyone. Fuck you, *****.

Everything was happening and nothing was happening all at once. The world was a calm place, overlaid with unnecessary noise. Life was slow and constant, its rhythms regular, its movements predictable. You could see the end of it coming towards you and moving past you. People ran around everywhere shouting all the time, pretending that something terribly important was happening. Making a constant fuss to distract themselves from the quiet of it all. From the circular and uncaring advancement of life.

The arena was awash with screams, men jumping up out of their seats, throwing their black helmets to the ground and their fists in the air, beating their chests, roaring with the power they felt at the sight of His power. Their faces were flushed red and sweaty with excitement lust and hunger. At one end of the stage a man in gold stood triumphantly atop a throne of dark earth, crowing empty words of pride that reverberated around the ring, his arms stretched out, hands tilted as if he were offering something. At the other end, a crowd of musicians summoned a frenzy from their instruments in worship of Him, whirling and stomping as they played, red robes swirling, picking up the energy from the men and converting it into discord.

Then there was Him, down in the middle of the dirt floor, red blood flowing down His bare alabaster chest, black robe flowing down His back, head of darkness bowed, bosom heaving, arms at His sides. Facing the throne, but not returning the attention of the man there. Staring instead down at a dead body, pinned by a blade to a mound of dirt and blood, meaningless, void. He was the closest living thing to stillness in the theater. Everything else was movement, tiresome, frantic, superfluous movement.

She wasn’t interested in it anymore. She lifted away, out of the theater, moving up through the long straight branches that the spruce trees brandished at one another. Soaring over the thick forest canopy, and the deforested swaths of stumps that kept interrupting it. Gliding down the spine of the mountain, over burned settlements and pillaged villages. Floating across the valley, where the fields were barren and scorched, empty of livestock but not of mutilated corpses. Drifting over the lake that gathered water from the hills like softly folded hands, and the cottages that clustered all around it, their doors hanging off the hinges, their charred roofs caving in. A peaceful world, that people made chaotic.

All of it was unimportant. There was one piece of ground that mattered, one place in the world that was beckoning to her. The cold, rotting, eternally welcoming arms of her mother. The potter’s field where she lay must be just over the next ridge, or the next, and so on she flew.

But then something started tugging her backwards, a heaviness anchoring her, ruining the beautiful objectivity she had found. Something dragged her back out of the valley, yanked her up the mountain again, pulled her down through the evergreen boughs, and dumped her right back into the madness and heat and din of the arena. Dropping her down into Him. Suddenly, she had eyes again, and she was trapped in the body behind those eyes, looking out, trapped in a viewpoint once more.

But it was not her body. She was not Rey. She was inside Him. She couldn’t move His limbs or turn His gaze, she couldn’t talk to Him, but she could see what He saw and feel what He felt. It was tight and hot and itchy inside Him, like magma beneath the earth’s crust churning, streams of liquid fire and black goopy rock, molten spray, tectonic plates of unnamed emotions shifting, eating everything they touched.

The man in gold sat on his throne, leaning forward, inspecting and cajoling the soldiers. They were filing out of their seats down toward the floor of the theater, forming a slow procession across the stage. As each passed the altar he stopped, bowed his head, and touched the lifeless body, laying a reverent hand upon some part of it, pausing and keeping his hand there for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen, before looking back at the throne and moving on in disappointment.

She recognized the naked, blood-smeared body, but it didn’t mean anything to her anymore. She didn’t want anything to do with it. He, however, was shaking with rage, clenching His jaw and fists, dangerously silent, seething. Everyone was aware of Him but no one dared look at Him. He glared daggers up at the old man and did not glance at the parade of men putting their hands upon the body He considered His.

“Yes, yes,” the man gloated from atop his throne of dirt, drunk on his own power and the pain he knew he was causing, “the Laying on of Hands. Thrill with the feel of Life and Death! Heal her, heal her, with thine hands. Canst thou? Canst thou? Flesh unto Flesh! Bring her back. Behold, men, the blooming cheek of Life, corrupted by Death. Feel how the fine form is degraded and wasted. Let not the Worm inherit the wonders of the eye and brain! Caress the cadaver, transform it back to what it was, make her whole again. Canst thou?” He motioned to a hesitant soldier to step up to the altar and touch the body. “Canst thou? Every step is a Death and a Birth. Test thyself. Prove thy worth on her corpse. Kill Death! Kill Death! If thou canst.”

His mind was a swirling, impenetrable tangle again, but this time she was inside it. Memories were flipping through His mind, memories He must have been able to keep hidden from her when she was alive. She saw the old man garbed in black, not gold, face a little younger but still sunken and sickening, welcoming the tall but hunched young man dressed in white ascetic robes, which were singed and smudged with ash. Telling him that masturbation was a source of power, not of evil nor of shame, and his uncle had wronged him. Explaining to him that the _Jehewida_ were a virginity cult and all their teachings were backwards. That his sexuality was part of him, something to be embraced, not avoided. That sex was a means of conquering the world, not polluting it. That he could have anything he wanted, but only if he was strong enough to take it.

One withered hand was clamped on the young man’s neck, and the other drifted down to the waistline of his dirty white pants, as Snoke asked him what he wanted most in the world.

“Not to be alone,” Ben mumbled, looking away from the hand that crept inside his underclothes.

“I’ll never leave you be, my boy,” the old man cooed, and began moving his hand vigorously, virilely, up and down his young and lonely cock. “You’re mine now. You’ll be what I make you.”

She saw Kylo in medical school, smocked and goggled, strong-shouldered, towering, no longer stooping, but now concealing the ears he saw as a fault beneath gleaming waves of long black hair. Obsessively studious, encouraged to pursue all that had been forbidden to him, thrilling in the objective pursuit of physical knowledge, in the mechanics of the body, the limitations of life and death. His ability to manipulate the life force, unbeknownst to his instructors and peers, made him the star pupil of the operating theater. He thrived down on the floor, with all eyes upon him as he worked, white-garbed attendants handing him surgical instruments as he spliced and carved and dug into whatever body lay before him on the gurney. An audience of dark-suited physicians in tiered seats leaned forward on their elbows, watching him closely.

She saw the pale old man in black often sitting among the audience in the operating theater, keeping an eye on the progress of his investment, always looming in the back row because he knew his presence was felt and did not need to be seen. He would come to him afterwards in his dormitory, praising him for his continued academic success, taking credit for it because he paid for it, paid the tuition and the housing costs and everything else. Always threatening to end it all, unless he gave Snoke what he wanted: his body, his mind, his loyalty, his independence. Telling him it was the highest level of Initiation to allow his forced entry inside his body. That just as his uncle and the _Jehewida_ were wrong, this was right. This was love and power and growth. This was how he would become great.

“Don’t fight me. Take it. This is the XI°!” the old man rasped and wheezed as he pumped his dick deep inside him. “Be quiet. Bend. Stop fussing and take it.”

She saw Ben’s mother, in a smart blue dress with matching hat and gloves, her graying chestnut hair looped in elaborate braids. Leia came to visit him exactly once at university, to tell him that he was throwing his life away. That he had a chance and he was wasting it. That he had to learn to subdue his power and turn it into something else, something pure, something other than what he was becoming.

“Snoke is just using you for your power,” she said to him sadly as she leaned on his desk, the same desk he was usually bent over when the old man forced himself upon him. “When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you.”

She didn’t know what it meant to be crushed. She didn’t know what it meant to be born alone. She’d been born a twin. He’d always been alone, miserably alone, until the _Primus Ordo_ found him and took him in. He’d never been asked what he wanted until the Order, never been allowed out of the corners and back corridors of life into the center of anyone’s attention. And he wasn’t going back into that darkness.

“This is the last time, and then I’ll be gone,” Leia said. “I will not hear you, I will not see you. There can be no community between you and me if you go down this path.”

He was desperate to get her out of his room, to stop seeing her standing in the spot where it had happened, to stop thinking about what his uncle would say about what he’d allowed to happen to his body.

“Thus I relieve you, my creator,” Kylo sneered, and turned his back on his mother for the last time. “Thus I take from you a sight which you abhor.”

As the Laying on of Hands proceeded before Him, all these memories and feelings, among others, were boiling inside Kylo simultaneously, all vying for attention that He refused to give them, which only fed them in their frenzy to be seen. This was the kind of earthly pain she had been relieved to be free of as she breathed her last breath. This was what she had been floating away from as she soared through the air over the meaningless earth. She wanted to be free of this pain, not saddled with someone else’s.

He still stood at the head of the altar, over her slack and dead-eyed face, in the spot where He had slain her. She noticed, when He looked down for a moment, that someone had pulled her head back up to lie flat on the platform, but the dirty white veil was still bunched up around her shoulders indecently. He glanced around at His six knights, the only men in the arena still helmeted and fully armored, who formed a defensive semi-circle around Him. Then He glared back up at Snoke.

This had not been part of the plan. The complex, manifold elements of the ritual of Unholy Union were clearly prescribed in the sacred texts of the _Primus Ordo Templi Occidentis_. Kylo, as head Priest, knew them all by heart. There was no Laying on of Hands. This was not a sacred procession, it was a reminder from Snoke to Him of who was in control. Another way of touching Him in places He could not protect, in ways He could not defend Himself against. The Benefactor knew that Kylo craved yet hated touch, and was forcing Him to watch His soldiers grope an extension of Himself, a body that was His and His alone. Forcing Him to allow the touch, to watch and do nothing, to hate it and enjoy it and hate that He enjoyed it, just like the old days.

The soldiers continued to solemnly stream past her body, one by one. They were not any less intimidating now that their hungry faces could be seen. Some laid a hand upon the curve of her leg, others the dip of her ankle, some clasped her limp hands or her cold arms. Others leaned forward and caressed her cheek forlornly. All knew better than to go anywhere near her torso or the juncture of her thighs. Although to Him, it didn’t matter. Any touch of her was a violation of Him, though not by the soldiers whose hands reached out. There was one violator and he sat atop a throne of dirt. Kylo clenched and unclenched and clenched His fists. Ready. Waiting.

Dim yellow light spread across the horizon, heralding dawn, tinting the black sky navy blue and diminishing the number of stars that could be seen overhead. The procession was dwindling. Most men had returned to their seats and sat in quiet awe of what they had experienced, of what was yet to come. Red-robed musicians walked among the rows, distributing golden chalices and filling them from jugs of green liquid.

Kylo raised His head, tilting His face to the sky and the audience. “The touch of man cannot bring her back. Only the hand of God.” It was strange to hear Kylo’s voice coming from the body she inhabited, to feel the vocal chords thrumming with it, the Adam’s apple bobbing.

He took off His black robe and threw it to the ground, turning in a wide circle with His arms outstretched, looking around at all the faces in the arena. “I am but clothed with the body of Flesh. My Phallus is the Phallus of the Sun.” He gestured to the cadaver on the altar. “This body that lies before Me, cloaked in Death, is the body of the Earth, upon which Life and Death vie for power in their endless dance.”

The musicians down on the stage floor began playing their instruments again, strumming strings and drumming skins, while the others up in the stands continued to pour from their jugs.

“Only the black and burning Sun can warm the cold red Earth.” Kylo walked around to the foot of the altar, and His knights resumed their previous positions, kneeling around it with their heads bowed.

“Within her flowed the blood of the Moon, dropping fresh from the host of heaven.” He gripped the pommel of the dagger that still claimed her heart and ripped it out of her, releasing a torrent of dark blood onto her skin and the dirt beneath it. “This pour, this burn! Let her holy blood enrich the Earth, let it feed the slithering and creeping creatures that are sacred unto Me, the Beast who creeps upon her.”

He placed one knee upon the altar, between her feet, then the other, leaning forward over her corpse, licking and nosing along her, from her dirty feet and legs up to her blood-painted belly and breasts, arching His hulking frame over the helpless cage that had been her body. She felt Him growing hard, felt the blood rushing to the center of Him, a mysterious but familiar urgency increasing within Him.

“I am the visible object of worship,” He cried, suddenly rearing His head to the crowd. “I am the Snake that giveth Knowledge and Delight. To worship Me, take wine and strange drugs and be drunk thereof.” The men raised their golden chalices of green to Him, drank deeply, and began singing, a kind of keening, wordless wailing. 

“The Earth is ripe for reaping. Let Us eat of her grapes, and be drunken thereon.” He bent back down to suckle her bloody breasts noisily, laying protective fingers over the fatal wound, licking, tasting, slurping, gnawing, endlessly craving what He was already consuming, His erection prodding into her. “Reap, and rejoice,” He groaned as He clutched at her. There was no pleasure but His.

Everything inside Him was shifting wildly, chunks of heavy black crust and fat red magma clashing against each other. He rose up onto His knees and lined Himself up with her cunt, rubbing the head of His cock around her still wet lips, probing around her entrance, holding back but not hesitating, making Himself wait. “The empty vessel of life to come. More sacred than any living thing.” He shivered.

His knights knew what He wanted, without Him saying a word, and folded her right leg for Him. He grasped her cold bent knee in one huge hand, spreading her wider as He placed His right hand over her heart, fingers splayed over the place where He had stabbed her.

The flutes and drums and zithers picked up their pace as the men continued singing and drinking, feasting with their eyes.

He rocked back and finally, finally, after weeks, after a lifetime of waiting, pushed His cock inside her. Sliding slowly, feeling the grip of her walls around Him, ready to come inside her again and again and again, all over her, filling her, marking her, until everybody saw, everybody knew, and the entire world trembled at their power.

When His head hit her cervix He rotated slowly against her walls, grinding against her hips, stiffening, growing ever more engorged. “Though thou abidest in the land of Death, I shall overcome thee,” He said hoarsely, withdrawing just as slowly, closing His eyes, shuddering at the all-encompassing feel of her. “The X°, through the IX°. Just as I have slain thee in My lust, now thou art reborn by the instrument of My lust.”

He began fucking her, hard, messy, forceful, shoving her body up the altar with the force of every evil thrust inside her, grunting, getting Himself off. “I am the Creator, I am thy Sire, thou art My Bride, thou art My Child.”

The horizon was a bright band of yellow over the theater, and all the sky above it vivid pink. He used His hand upon her knee to spread and then clench her cunt around Him, again and again, stoking something infernal between them. “Come on My cock, My Child. Arouse the coiled splendor within you. Come unto Me.”

She felt herself moving somehow, dwindling within him and strengthening somewhere else, somewhere familiar but fathomless. Her understanding of him was fading. She couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t move. But she felt everything, suddenly, a world of pain and crying and wanting, of having and not having, of remembering and not letting go.

“Thou shalt scream and cry and weep with the joy and the pain and the fear and the love,” he promised, and she heard his voice above her, not within her. He was in a body that was separate from her, slamming into her.

Feeling was cresting inside her, coming to a head. His dick was enormous, taking up more space than there was inside her, pushing against all of her. Something inside her was pushing back against a force she couldn’t describe. Something was growing inside her, working, knitting itself back together under the hand he laid on her broken breast.

“Come on my cock. Come on my cock and be reborn. My Child. My Whore.”

The singing of the men washed over the two of them like deep water, pulling them under, crashing over their heads.

“Come, My Child,” he said again and again. “That which is to be denied shall be denied no more. Come, O Crimson Whore.” The highest point of the sun broached the eastern wall of the arena, flooding their dirty bloody fucking and the hungry intoxicated men with harsh streams of golden, all-seeing light.

Rey saw them all, gasping as she opened her eyes and arched her back in helpless ecstasy. Here she was, of the world again, head bouncing, tits jiggling, hips thrusting up to meet his. She came in a hard, sudden jolt that took over her entire body, a jarring spurt of wheeling emotion and physical sensation, dripping and squelching around him, moaning gutturally as he gripped her hips and drove into her.

“This is what you want, _ma poubelle_ ," he murmured low into her ear, for her to hear and no one else. "Down on the ground, like a dog in heat, surrounded by the pack." Then Kylo kissed Rey's mouth for the first time, taking her greedily as he came deep inside her, pushing his tongue into her as he continued to thrust and gush into her as far as he could, stuffing her with cum even as it surged back out around his plunging cock, biting and bruising her lips, drinking her cries of painful delight, soaking the bloody earth of the altar with both their cum. The sky was pink and orange and yellow and purple, all the brightest, most beautiful shades, too beautiful, too bright after so long a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, they're just getting started. Lots of fucking in the next chapter. This may have been difficult to read, but I hope it was tagged appropriately so that no harm was done. Next chapter will be more campy, less angsty. All the fucking.
> 
> If you want to see a picture of the kind of operating theater that Kylo studied in, check out [this interesting article](https://daily.jstor.org/inside-the-operating-theater-surgery-as-spectacle/). The name of the Jedi cult in this fic, the _Jehewida_ , is the name of the German nun from those [1926 cum thimble letters](https://www.parareligion.ch/2007/aha/schwester.htm) by Theodore Reuss. The conversation between Kylo and Leia is drawn in part from Ch. 10 of [_Frankenstein_](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/84/84-h/84-h.htm). Snoke's diatribe blends Ch. 4 of [_Frankenstein_](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/84/84-h/84-h.htm) with Crowley's [_Book of Law_](http://lib.oto-usa.org/libri/liber0220.html). Kylo's ritualistic language is taken in part from the [_Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente_](http://lib.oto-usa.org/libri/liber0065.html), "The Book of the Heart Embraced by the Snake", another sacred text written by Aleister Crowley.
> 
> VII° = anointment of the body with blood and sexual fluids  
> VIII° = adoration of the phallus via oral sex  
> IX° = vaginal sex  
> X° = birth  
> XI° = anal sex  
>   
> How misogynist, right? According to [the structure of initiation in the real-life O.T.O.](https://www.parareligion.ch/2009/secret/secrets.htm), a man fucking you in the ass is more powerful and magical than a woman giving birth. Okay, guys.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: rape (anal and vaginal), child prostitution (not graphic, but how could it not be sad), Major Character Death (Snoke boohoo), violence, murder, exhibitionism, restraints/immobilization, internalized misogyny, externalized misandry, power bottom, repression, drug/alcohol use and addiction, this is what female power looks like, comeuppance like you wouldn't believe
> 
> Did I say less angst? WHOOPS
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [LINGUA IGNOTA, MAY FAILURE BE YOUR NOOSE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbZbP8ijS54)

Kylo still lay on top of and inside her, caging Rey underneath his bulky shoulders as his head hung down between them, pinning down her center with his hips like a butterfly in one of his specimen boxes. He was barely half-hard, but thick and heavy in her cunt, gathering energy like a lightning rod every time he made the smallest movement.

He was devouring her face with his mouth, lapping at the insides of her cheeks, sucking on her chin, snarling, biting and slobbering all over her like an animal. Marking every part of her with his touch and making everyone watch.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn her face away. And so she didn’t have to think about whether or not she would turn away, if she could. His men held her in place for him, their leather-gloved hands clamped and clutching all over her. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, their arms reaching over and around each other, interlocked like strands of a spider’s web.

Every little thing she felt had meaning. Rey was lost, mindless, inside the return to her own physical sensation. She could tell, by the different ways they held her, which hands on her body were pairs, belonging to the same knight. One grasped her upper arm and ankle, trembling in his touch. Another squeezed her thigh and throat too tightly, wanting more, and another kept rhythmically, curiously, pressing his fingers into the curves of her ankle and waist. On her other side, one knight rubbed his thumbs back and forth under her knee and inside her elbow, reassuring her. Another loosely circled her wrist and cupped the soft underside of her chin, gentle but possessive. One splayed the fingers of his hand just beneath her breast, itching to move higher, as his other drove her shoulder down, hard, into the altar.

Her entire body was alive. She was alive. The sun was pouring over them, the birds up in the trees and in the sky were calling to them. Rey understood all of it, she felt all of it. The trees in the wind felt just like she did under him. The drums were guiding the pace of his mouth on her. The melodies of the strings and pipes were the desires of her body and mind clashing and intertwining with each other. Everything was happening all at once. The world was a frenzied place, impossibly full. All of life was one thing, a monstrous throbbing body made of different parts sewn together, lumbering as one over the face of the earth. 

Kylo groaned into her mouth and rocked back and forth, so gently it hurt, barely moving his hips, sending sparks and jolts through her, making her gasp and clench around him. She could feel every pulse of the hardening of his cock. She needed more, and whined to tell him so. She wasn’t going to use words ever again. They weren’t enough.

He shushed her whining, and stopped thrusting altogether. Let him decide. Take what he gives you.

She could hear Snoke in the background, proclaiming some bullshit to the crowd. It didn’t matter. None of them mattered. Let them watch. Let them see. They couldn’t have it. No one could touch her but him.

Rey tilted her pelvis forward, angling him deeper into her. Stop moving. Be still. Don’t fuss. Maybe if she moved slowly enough he wouldn’t notice her getting off. She pumped her hips as imperceptibly as she could, dragging her walls along him, feeling him thickening, taking up all the space inside her. Let him take everything. It was his.

He held his cock motionless inside her again, stubbornly refusing to give her what she wanted, and moved his mouth to her ear, breath like a whirlwind, growling and sucking and swirling his tongue. She looked up at the sky now that he wasn’t blocking it out. The sun was a harsh yellow, but the clouds rolling in were the softest purple. Everything was about to turn blue, she could feel it.

Just a little faster, he wouldn’t notice. Her breath was coming in puffs now, and her fingers were scrabbling in the dirt for something to hold on to. Her belly felt hollow. She rotated her ass underneath him, rolling and squeezing her cunt, milking his thickness. This is what you want. You want this, not him. Rey pulled back little by little, torturing herself, dragging his cock along her bruised entrance. She bit her bottom lip until she bled as she sunk him back into her, grinding herself softly against him. Give him everything. He Made you. This is his.

She rolled her hips up and down, long and slow, thumping his fat head against her cervix, eating him with her pussy, mewling desperately at how good it felt. At how much she needed it. There were hands all over her body, roaming more now that Kylo was distracted, but the only hands that mattered were his, cradling the back of her head as he nuzzled and groaned behind her ear. He was electricity inside her, unmoving, ever flowing. She closed her eyes. He was God. He was God.

The music rose to a screeching crescendo, all the instruments becoming one sound as they fought to be heard over each other. Then it abruptly ceased. The entire arena silently watched Rey fuck herself to completion on his cock, writhing underneath all the men who held her down, mashing herself against her Maker, taking her pleasure from him, pleading wordlessly in screaming half-whispers. Her arms and legs shook violently as she came, needing to wrap herself around him, needing to be human and soft. But she was a monster, and trapped.

Kylo stayed still for a long moment, his head tucked behind hers, his hard body motionless as she heaved against him, coming down. At last he leaned back and away from her, resting on one elbow. He brushed Rey’s sweaty hair out of her face and looked down her into eyes for a long time, deciding what to do with her.

He turned his head at last back towards Snoke, who smiled cruelly and nodded. A red-robed attendant approached and handed Kylo a glossy black chalice spangled with points of gleaming gold, a night sky complicated by constellations of piercing stars.

He tilted her head up in his hand and brought the chalice to her lips. She smelled anise and fennel, heady ethanol, and realized that the green liquid they had all been drinking was undiluted absinthe. Fools.

Kylo nudged the cold rim against her closed lips.

Rey shook her head. They weren’t even louching it.

He pushed harder, until her teeth parted, then her lips, tilting her head back and pouring it down her throat, watching her hungrily. Her blood was smeared across his face and matted in his thick black hair. Torchlight danced with sunlight in his dark eyes.

Her throat burned immediately. She coughed and he paused, but started pouring again as soon as she’d recovered herself. As he tipped the last of it into her mouth she felt heat spreading through her chest and a familiar tightening all over her body.

He held out the chalice and another red guard walked up and refilled it. She thought this must be for Kylo, but he made her drink again, the whole thing, faster this time. None for him. She winced and choked, looking up. The sun was too bright. It hurt. When she closed her eyes it turned the insides of her eyelids hot pink, a shade so hot it made her sick. She kept coughing and squeezing her eyes shut, trying to breathe.

She felt her body being shoved and flipped and rearranged. Suddenly she was on her hands and knees with her ass in the air and her head hanging low. She felt the guards pinning her calves and wrists to the dirt, pressing her back down but her chest and shoulders up, so that her body formed an arch over the altar she knelt upon. The light still hurt too much for Rey to open her eyes.

“We commence now, _O_ _Primus Ordo_ , men of men, the Manifestation of Night!” Snoke crowed from his throne. “The XI°, the penetration of the innermost sanctum of Heaven!”

She realized Kylo wasn’t on the altar with her, but standing on the ground behind her. He would never kneel. She felt him squeeze and roughly shift aside a handful of her ass cheek, opening and exposing her to him and to all the men in the arena. His other hand must be on his cock, which he was caressing against her asshole.

She sobbed and shook her head. No. Please no.

Yes, he said by reaching down to her messy cunt, letting himself in and stroking her walls, drawing out blood and cum and smearing it around her asshole. Teasing her with how she said she didn't want it, circling the lubricated tip of his finger just far enough inside her rim to make her push back against him, needing more. Once she was squirming he moved his hand down to jiggle her clit, confusing and overwhelming her with sensation, cramming the slippery, heavy head of his cock into her ass. Heavy in so many ways. He’d seen her memories. He knew she didn’t want this. He knew what she’d been through, what they’d done to her there.

“There is a secret Door,” Snoke called out to the crowd, “that only He may enter. For Him the veiled sky is unveiled, the once-slain Bride-Child whose body was once the Earth. Now she is the Night sky, Infinite Space. Her kneeling body, the arched vault of Heaven. And He, Infinite Starlight, pierces the sky! He is the Light that consumes the Dark. Behold, men! Rise up! He enters the secret Door, He unveils the sacred recesses of Heaven, He destroys and regenerates the world!”

She wanted to weep openly, but tried to hide her tears to protect herself. Her body relaxed enough to let him in, little by little, welcoming the fat slide of his soft skin. Once his head was all the way inside he gripped her waist with both monstrous hands, pulling her snug rings of muscle onto himself, rotating his hips, taking everything he could, giving her everything he had. She could feel his deep groans reverberating in her body as she squeezed him, could feel his soft hair brushing her back as he bent down and watched her body swallow him in shameful hunger.

She hated how good it felt. She knew it didn’t matter if she wanted it, but she didn’t. The drums were pounding again, matching their beat to his greedy thrusts. She wanted to bend down and hide her splotchy face in her arms, to hide from the bright morning sun and from everyone watching, but his knights only held her in place more rigidly when she tried to move at all. She had no choice, no control, no say. There was no point in wanting or not wanting.

Rey needed to move, to let some of the tension off. Something was building inside her. Not a sexual tension, but a powerful force culminating inside her. She recognized the feeling but she couldn’t prepare herself for it.

Kylo slowly inched back out of her, finally, only to push back in even harder and faster, punishing her for ever having wanted anything. He knew what she really wanted, always, and he decided when she got it. Take it, take it, take it. The sun still burned behind her eyelids, but the burning in her throat was subsiding. She struggled to get her eyes open, and looked up. She was shocked to see that it wasn’t sunny at all. Dark gray clouds were rolling in, and the sky behind them was a swirling mass of even darker gray.

She closed her eyes again and looked inside herself. It felt like she was thinking clearly for the first time, like her eyes were wide open.

She felt Kylo reaching toward her insides with the life force, realizing something was going on inside her, trying to assess what it was. He was still pounding into her but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t part of it.

The air around them was turning into mist. Clouds were descending from the sky to walk among them. Rey smelled vengeance on the air. Nobody but her knew what was about to happen. They thought they’d drugged her, incapacitated her, but they’d dosed her with her own coping mechanism. Absinthe was how she’d survived the horrors of the brothel. When she drank, she could handle remembering. She could do what she had to do. The fog was so thick and strong it looked almost like smoke, tangled up in the green boughs of the spruce trees circling the arena, but she knew it wasn’t smoke. The fire was inside her. She could smell the cleanness of the gray mist, feel the rightness of it, the power. She was in her element now.

Down on the altar, trapped underneath Kylo and his knights, trapped with him inside her, Rey remembered all of it. Everything she had locked away was flooding forth. She only had the one memory of her father, in which he was as faceless as the men in the arena. But she remembered her mother, looking up at her tearfully in the sunlight and saying she was sorry. Dancing to the gramophone, soft skirts swirling around her, letting Rey trail and trip along, twirling her by her little hands. Her mother hadn’t laughed much, but when she did it was loud, always, floating up to the ceiling and taking over the room, making everybody join in.

Mostly Rey remembered her mother sprawled out on the divan, in a breathy haze after the parlor doctor visited, not awake and not asleep, forgetful and slurring. At strange hours she would lock Rey out of the room they shared at Unkar’s place, making her sit by herself, little and alone, in the wooden chair out in the hallway. Rey never wondered about the sounds she heard in the hallway, the groveling and moans and sighs, until after her mother was gone, when the same sounds were coming from her own body, in the same room. The wallpaper was dark gray flowers on a darker gray background, their petals closed into little cups that would never open, their stems pressed into endless chains.

She was twelve, she thought, when it started, when her mother died. She remembered Unkar preserving her virginity as long as he could by having men fuck her in the ass. He always told them it was her first time, that she’d never done this before, so he could charge them more. And when she finally did lose her virginity it was to him, for no price, no profit, after almost a year of him telling her that he was driving up price and demand for it by refusing to let anyone have her there. She was ashamed to admit that she liked it when they fucked her pussy, comparatively. By that time she’d given up. It seemed like the only way she could fight back was to do nothing, to not fight, because they liked it when she squirmed and bit and clawed and pushed. She wouldn’t touch morphine, she refused to end up like her mother, but absinthe was entirely different, and it poured freely around the fountain in the parlor, where Unkar exhibited his girls and bargained for their bodies.

She remembered her first kill, her last night in the brothel. The man in her bed that night wasn’t any different from all the others that violated her over the years. The only novelty was that he asked her how she wanted it, as he lay back in her bed and unbuttoned his pants. Like his dick was a gift to her. As if she’d ever wanted it, from any of them. But she answered his question: she raised her hand, cupped it, and snapped his neck from across the room. That was how she wanted it. She didn’t mean to kill him, didn’t know how she’d done it, but that was how she escaped Unkar and she didn’t regret it.

Kylo hadn’t given her the life force, she realized. And he fucking knew it. It was her power, no one else's. All of it came back to Rey at once on the altar as the absinthe hit her for the first time in years. She stretched her spine, remembering, feeling the strength that came from inside her.

He was jerking her kneeling body back and forth, fucking her ass like he was proving something to himself, fucking her like he'd been fucked, taking her like he'd been taken. Trapped inside the circle of what had been done to him, repeating it. Grinding her asshole against the base of his dick like a boot heel into the ground. Roaring in domination, putting on a show for his men, but especially for his master.

She’d died long before he killed her with the dagger. Many times. And here she was, of the world again. Again. This was not her first rebirth. There was nothing left to fear. Nothing anybody could do to her that she hadn’t survived. Nothing to hide from. No one could touch her.

Rey pushed outward with the force of everything inside herself. All the bodies of all the men touching her fell away and left her blessedly alone, free of their roving and controlling hands, free of his self-righteous, self-obsessed cock.

Her eyes snapped open. She dusted off her dirty hands and got up on her knees. The knights were splayed on the ground in a jagged circle around the altar, their legs bent at unnatural angles, big and helpless and confused. Kylo lay on the ground at the foot of the platform, practically underneath her, shaking as he looked up at her. Pale and panting beneath his sweat-plastered hair. His eyes were excited but his face guarded, carefully blank. He couldn’t hide himself from her anymore.

Rey rose, standing on the altar, looking down at herself crusted in gore. Cum and blood were dribbling out of her cunt and ass. She felt Kylo at her feet, watching it slide down the insides of her thighs, wanting it. She unbunched the dirty white veil from her shoulders and spread it down over her body, straightening herself, throwing back her shoulders, standing tall as she turned to face the throne.

Snoke had started to come down the earthen steps. “Let the Crimson Whore beware!” he cried. He pumped one arm in the air in a show of confidence, but with the other he was gesturing frantically for his red-robed guards to surround her. “Let her kill her heart! My vengeance shall be known.”

She glanced down at Kylo again, enjoying how he waited to see what she would do. When she scrunched up her face to spit on him, he cowered, just a little. She smiled and decided not to bother. She didn’t need to debase him like he needed to debase her. She was stronger.

The old man continued rambling as the soldiers in the stands watched silently, neither defying nor obeying him. “I will alienate her heart! I will cast her out from men! As a shrinking and despised harlot shall she crawl through dusk-wet streets, and die cold and hungering.”

But Rey had already lived that life and died that death.

Snoke was not a god. He didn’t even pretend to be one. He was an ugly old man who used money and power to control other people’s bodies.

Above her and within her the sky was swirling dark and darker gray. She reached her powerful right hand forward and blasted him off the throne, throwing him down on his ass in the dirt below, snapping his spine and killing him instantly.

The arena broke open like an egg, men spilling everywhere. Snoke’s red-armored guards rushed at her with their deadly weapons. Kylo’s knights in black scrambled up off the ground to head them off. The thousands of soldiers up in their seats were yelling and stumbling drunkenly, desperate to get involved in the battle, but unable to stand without falling over each other.

Kylo, naked as all hell, suddenly had a very heavy longsword in both hands and was wheeling around with it, using its momentum like an additional weapon, hacking into bodies and screaming and gnashing his teeth in glee as he called orders to his men. He and his knights formed a defensive arc out in front of her, making red robes darker red, pushing forward toward the throne.

Up on the altar Rey rolled her shoulders, feeling more alive than she ever had before. There was power in remembering, in looking inside herself without shame. She noticed the black-pommeled dagger down on the ground and called it to her hand, reveling at the feel of soft leather encasing its hard core. Every inch of it had been inside her body, in one way or another, but she had never touched it for herself.

She heard a commotion behind her and turned to see the band of red musicians coming at her, brandishing their instruments as makeshift weapons. Shifting the dagger to her left hand she raised her right and blasted all of them to the ground in a few short bursts of everything inside her. With a series of flicks of her wrist, she disentangled the weaponry from their broken bodies and chucked it all over the mouth of the arena, into the woods.

She was alive. She was unkillable. And if they did kill her, she’d just come back stronger. Fuck them all.

When she turned back around she saw Kylo at the foot of the throne, caught in the grasp of the last red guard.

His knights were clustered around another red-armored man in his death throes, oblivious to the peril their leader suddenly found himself in. Not one of the thousands of swaying, helmetless soldiers had yet made it out of the tiers of seats. They were their own obstacle.

The guard held Kylo’s bare and bloody back up against his chest, trapping his neck beneath the handle of a long thick spear and slowly choking him, pressing strong but helpless gurgles out of his bulging throat.

His eyes met hers, unsure, hoping.

Switching hands again, she threw to him the dagger of her own demise. As soon as he caught it he jammed the blade into his attacker’s eye and discarded him, not looking back as he did it, but gazing into Rey, letting the life force guide his hand.

The soldiers up in their seats watched, hushed. The knights moved toward them to regain order.

Now it was just the two of them on the dirt floor, in the sun and torchlight, amidst the broken corpses, facing each other in the death throes of the vanquished. The mist was rolling away, back inside Rey, and the sky was getting bluer behind the gray.

She stepped off the altar and strode toward him, the bloody veil billowing behind her. Snoke’s body lay strewn before the base of his former throne. Someone had unnecessarily thwacked his cadaver clean in half with a longsword. Kylo shook his hair out of his face and wiped the blood away from his eyes, making himself tall again, proud in his body, as he awaited her.

Once she stood beside him he turned and looked down at his benefactor’s bisected corpse, drawing her attention there as well. He rolled it with his bare toe, asking for approval. She saw the child in him, looking for someone to lead him, always resenting the people who tried and failed to fill that role, becoming that person himself when no one else would.

He reached out a hand to her, trembling but sure, over the body of the man she had killed for them, gazing into her eyes beseechingly. Rey reached out her own hand, not to take his, but waiting for something of her own. She remembered what he had done to her on the altar.

Kylo handed her the dagger, chagrined, but kept his other hand outstretched and waiting.

He looked up pointedly to the throne, then back into her eyes. “Join me,” he said softly. “Please.”

Rey turned and ascended the steps alone.

Overhead the sky was pure, bright blue, the color of possibility. The sun was a clean white line. She was alive. The sun was pouring over her, the birds up in the air were calling to her. She felt all of it. The wind in the trees felt just like she did as she climbed.

She stared down at the seat where the old man had sat, waiting to feel something. But the throne was as empty and soulless as a grave. Snoke's seat of power had only been what he’d made it, what he’d made people see in it.

She turned around. Kylo watched her every movement from the base of the steps, not giving up, but not knowing what else to do. As she sat down she spread her legs wide, taking up the entire throne and settling in. She patted the inside of her knee and beckoned to him. Come.

With every step he took, she drew the veil a little higher up her legs. By the time he reached the top it lay loose around her hips and she revealed herself to him. He knelt when she pointed the dagger at his heart, and laid his head upon her knee, lapping at the insides of her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’d made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a week and a half late! My god! It's double-length, it's complicated and uncomfortable, and I just couldn't write it any faster. But baby, these characters are GOING PLACES. Expect the next chapter to be posted within another week and a half. So not by this weekend but the one after that. 
> 
> There was not much research for this chapter. Check out [this page](https://wildstore.wildsanctuary.com/products/dawn-in-the-black-forest) to listen to a snippet of what the birds sound like at dawn in the Black Forest. [Here](https://www.thespruceeats.com/how-to-drink-absinthe-759547) is an article on what it means to louche absinthe, and how. [Here](https://www.absinthes.com/absinthe-fountains/) are some examples of what absinthe fountains, like the one in the parlor of Plutt's brothel, look like. The fountains held water, not absinthe; they dripped water slowly into the liquor to create la louche. Snoke’s lines, as usual, are a combination of things taken from and inspired by [Crowley’s _The Book of the Law_](http://lib.oto-usa.org/libri/liber0220.html). 
> 
> I put the Racially Ambiguous Rey tag back up. This was on the fic originally, and I took it down because I thought I had too many tags. No disrespect to Daisy Ridley. She's a great actress and plays Rey wonderfully. If Daisy is what Rey looks like to you in this fic, then that's what she looks like. We need more fics that make room for non-White bodies, something other than pink nipples and pink pussies and straight hair. I've also tried not to specify her body type or size. If I were a better person I'd make Kylo more ambiguous too, but I have it really bad for Adam Driver as Kylo.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, corpse mutilation, references to rape, complicated consent, anal play, knife play, object insertion, rim job, oral sex, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, lots of licking, lots of handsy stuff, callousness, vengeance, inappropriate use of a veil
> 
> This is not a new chapter. It is a new version of the last chapter I posted. It will seem similar at first, but it is ultimately pretty different. This version is truer to the characters. It is also nastier.
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Jai Paul, "BSTU (Edit)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EosYrxV6izg)

Part of Rey wanted to let her eyes flutter shut, but she kept them open, watching their soldiers clean up the corpses on the arena floor as Kylo bathed her with his tongue. They’d reorganized into companies, each following its own captain. As they filed down from the tiered seats, most of them disappeared into the tunnel system beneath the tower, but some stayed behind to hack apart the red-robed dead for later use in the laboratory, completing their gory work with alarming efficiency.

All of this happened without any orders being given from Kylo, whose head was still buried in her lap, his naked blood-stained body curled and kneeling between her spread legs. His knights flanked the steps leading up to the throne, guarding them and serving as eyes for him.

He was licking her gently, letting his tongue slide along the soft skin of her inner thighs, not pushing down at all, just gliding over, agonizingly slow, like a shroud being pulled across the cadaver of a loved one. He knew she liked it hard, rough, sloppy, but this time he wasn’t going to give her that until she asked for it. She wanted to grab his head and ride it, take his hands and grind on them, but she knew that was what he wanted her to do. He was trying to make her demand what she wanted or take it outright, to wield the power she’d found inside herself like a man would, like he would.

Too fucking bad. Rey wasn’t going to do things any way but her way. She didn’t have to demand or take to get what she wanted. She could make things happen without making anybody do anything. Her power was of the will. So she let him keep tormenting her with the gentle slither of his tongue along her aching thighs, the puff of his breath upon her wet skin. Letting him tease her, letting him torture them both. And while he wasted his time she watched his troops, figuring out what they were for.

The first company that moved across the stage stripped and despoiled the broken bodies. Their every movement was economical and calculated, trained no doubt by Kylo. A contingent of them yanked the boots and gauntlets off the corpses, throwing all the gear into a growing pile by the altar. Another group, with swords, sliced through the robes of the lifeless musicians as smoothly as if they were curling ribbons with kitchen shears.

Kylo lifted his head, clutching the filthy veil around her hips in his hands, glowering up at her, trying to get her to look down at him, angry that his gambit wasn’t working. He wanted her sex-crazed and squirming, not cognizant of anything but him. But all the questions Rey had been pushing aside for weeks were coming to the forefront of her mind. What was the Order for? How did he inherit the tower if his parents weren’t dead? Why was he making so fucking many of those lonely groaning creatures in his laboratory?

When she wouldn’t give him her attention, he gripped the veil tighter and tighter until it tore, then he pulled and ripped it apart all the way up to her neckline, huffing like a dissatisfied child determined to make his displeasure known.

Fine. Rey ignored him and watched as another group of soldiers yanked off the helmets and armor of Snoke’s guards, throwing the equipment into the same big pile in the middle of the ring, revealing ashen bodies marred and disfigured from battle. Kylo spread his fingers over her clavicle and along her shoulders, pulling away the veil, dragging it down her arms and back and balling it up behind her like a cushion, baring her abused body to himself and the arena once more. She didn’t pretend it bothered her. She liked being looked at. 

As the first company disrobed the dead, another followed after them, dismembering the neat rows of naked corpses systematically, pulling apart their limbs like a machine of death, consistent and meticulous and terrifying. Worse than the sight was the sound of their work, the squelching and crunching and sucking of meat being torn apart. First they hacked off the arms and legs, swinging heavy axes up into the air, then thunking them down through flesh and bone. They gained leverage by placing one heavy boot on each waxen torso as they jerked the limbs out of their sockets, then sorted them carefully into piles: right arms, right legs, left arms, left legs, and the discards, that were too mangled to be used for parts.

Kylo straightened up and leaned over her chest, still naked on his knees before her. His forehead blocked her view, which was surely his intention, but it wasn’t hard to tilt her head and look past him. She needed to see what was happening beyond the two of them. He, it seemed, could not right now.

He stared at the blood and cum he had torn from her body and painted upon her. All of her wounds had been healed when she came back to life, leaving behind strange serrated lines of smooth clean skin, around which dried blood puckered. He leaned forward a little more and spat on one breast, then the other, watching the thick globs bubble and slide down her flesh, then following their trails with his tongue. Cleaning up yet another mess he'd made. He grunted and sucked wantonly, pawing at her tits with his big bear hands, licking and biting her roughly.

Things were shifting between them, fast. The dagger felt comfortable in her right hand, resting on the arm of her throne as she kept an eye on the scene below.

The next squad of soldiers was more methodical, taking the heads off the truncated corpses with precision, using surgical instruments rather than weapons. They worked in pairs, one man slowly wielding the saw at the base of the neck, the other cradling the head and continuously checking nerve endings and flesh serration, making sure nothing ruptured and the spine remained mostly intact. All the heads were kept, none discarded, no matter how mutilated. Another group of men carried them away and placed them upside down in a train of carts waiting near the mouth of the tunnel. In that position, they looked like rows of smudged vases filled with thick meaty soup. Their faces meant less to her than she thought they would.

As he cleaned her, Kylo left the mark of the Snake traced in blood upon her belly, where he’d carved it with the dagger as he'd choked her with his dick. He traced the serpentine outline, dragging his fingers as he suckled her spit-shiny breasts, grunting loudly around her flesh in his mouth, needing more, needing her to hear him, look at him, touch him.

But Rey needed other things. Watching the mass dismemberments and decapitations, she thought of the devastation she’d drifted over in the middle of the night: the burned and pillaged settlements and villages, the cottages caving in, the hacked apart carcasses littering the clearings. She realized how the soldiers knew what to do without Kylo directing them. How often they must do this. What all those afternoon excursions were about. She was suddenly glad they were far from her village. But how had she ended up here?

His hungry mouth moved up to her neck, marking the column of her throat with his teeth, nuzzling his nose under her jaw and his soft hair on her shoulder, begging her to react to him.

All the cadavers were being broken down and sorted into piles except Snoke’s. The two halves of his giant body lay at the base of the throne, clothed in gold and drying gore, just as Rey and Kylo had left him, spine snapped, torso thwacked.

He cupped her pussy in his palm, panting on her neck, just holding her for a long moment before pressing two fingers to her clit, exactly how she liked, in a steady, circular pulse. But still she didn’t melt into his touch and sigh and whimper like he wanted. Instead, she pushed his hand away.

It was all going on simultaneously. Some bodies at the far end had already been stripped and chopped apart and sorted, while those closer to them were only now being disrobed and disarmored. Other men were focused on moving the piles of limbs and torsos into carts, and others still were up in the stands, cleaning up the broken jugs and chalices and piss.

“Just tell me what you want,” Kylo pleaded low in her ear, licking her there now, desperate. “Tell me what to do.”

Finally she turned her head to meet his gaze. He wet his lips and tried to kiss her on the mouth, then scrambled out of her lap when she began to stand up, falling on his ass at her feet. 

“Look at yourself.” It was the first time she’d spoken since coming back to life. Her voice sounded different inside her body than she remembered, magical, mysterious, but solid and clear. “You know what I want. Give it to me.”

Kylo gaped up at her, blinking, then looked down at himself, at the dirty self-inflicted gashes on his wrists, the blood of his lover smeared with cum on his cock, the blood of their enemies spattered everywhere else.

She stared down at him, waiting, with the dagger in her hand.

He unfolded himself and rose from the earth, contemplating her longingly, then made his way slowly down the steps and across the stage. When he reached the altar he shuddered as he laid himself upon it, flat on his back, spread eagle, hair loose and wild around his face.

Rey brought the ruins of the veil with her as she descended from her throne, bending over and stuffing them into the rictus of Snoke’s dead mouth with a grin. She patted him on his stiffening chin. No more nonsense.

As she approached the altar of dirt and cum and blood, Kylo’s war horn of a cock heralded his excitement, rising thick above his thighs for her like the tower looming overhead. He was vulnerable to the view of everyone, and to whatever she wanted to do to him. Their soldiers were still hard at work, thunking and crunching away amidst the corpses, but she felt their hunger, their furtive glances at the two of them.

She stepped forward to the foot of the platform, eclipsing the late morning sun from his view, chilling him with her gaze as she cast him in shadow. “Bend your knees,” she said.

He looked up at the sky, throat bobbing, but did as she told him.

She climbed onto the altar and knelt between his spread legs, then placed her hands on his ankles and pushed them farther apart. His chest was heaving raggedly in anticipation. Rey moved her hands to his hips, fondling the hard muscle there, the meat of him, fingers crawling underneath to cup his ass. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the dagger and brought it between them, letting him see it, filthy and flashing in the late autumn light.

She flipped it so she held the blade carefully in one hand, pinching the flat width of it and staying away from the sharp edges. With her other hand she reached down and spread his firm cheeks, lightly teasing the outside of his asshole with her thumb. She slid the round, thick hilt into her mouth, fucking her face a little with it, letting him watch her get it ready for him.

Pulling it out with a popping sound she bent down, ass in the air, pussy wet for all the men to see and none to touch. She slowly massaged the pommel against his entrance, bobbing it, letting the texture of it drag against his sensitive, wrinkled skin. Letting him feel a little bit of what she'd felt.

He moaned and gyrated his hips.

“I know you never liked it when he touched you here." She licked and puffed on his taint as she kept working the handle against his tightly puckered orifice. “But you like it when I do it.” She softly kissed his balls, licking the seam, looking up into his wild eyes as she sucked and hummed and rolled them gently in her mouth. “Don’t you,” she said when she finally came up for air, still rubbing the cold leather against his warm tightness.

His dick twitched. “Yes,” he rasped, turning his head away, digging his fingers into the dirt. Waiting for her to enter him, take him.

She squeezed and roughly shifted aside a handful of his ass cheek, opening and exposing him to her and to all the men in the arena. Then she dipped her head back down and started swirling her tongue in slow circles just inside the rim of his asshole, moaning into his flesh, licking sloppy like she liked. Holding the blade carefully in her bare hand, she rotated the round end of the pommel slowly against his entrance, and then just almost inside him, slow circles, closer and closer, then finally inside, just a little bit, just the tip.

His hands and jaw were clenched, his breath heavy and halting, his throbbing pink cock weeping high over her head. Rey licked all the way up his taint and balls and the thick underside of his dick, nibbling and gnawing, making him shudder. She didn’t have to beg for his cock anymore. She’d take it if she wanted it. And she did. She thrust the hilt inside him, hard, unforgiving, as she took his head into her mouth, licking him up, tasting his sweat and their cum and her blood. Not cleaning him up. Making things worse. His shaft stretched her cheeks and made her lips ache as she gulped her way down, loud and wet, sucking and squeezing, doing it how she wanted.

She watched him watch her take him, watched him be the one who had to wait and see what happened. She kept pushing the pommel further and further inside him until he choked on his own breath, then she rotated it again, taking everything she could. It was too much, too fast, more than his body was ready for, and that was what she wanted. She heard him moan in pain.

“Quiet, girl,” she spat, popping his dick out of her mouth to snarl at him, thrusting harder and deeper into his ass, pulling her face away from his cock to watch him suffer. He worked his jaw, eyes rolling in his head, trying to take it, stifling his cries of agony. “That’s fucking right. Quiet. Take it.”

She inched slowly back out of him, finally, only to push back in even harder and faster, punishing everyone who’d ever touched her. Take it, take it, take it. She wouldn’t anymore.

But something kept biting her, distracting her. Rey looked down at herself and realized she was slicing open her own palm as she made him pay. With a start, she pulled away from him and sat up on her knees, staring at nothing. She felt like him. 

Not Kylo. Unkar.

He lifted his head off the altar at an angle that must have hurt his neck, taking loud, deep breaths. “Do it,” he said shakily, through gritted teeth.

She looked around at all the men, some of them still holding the heads and limbs they’d been sawing at, dripping blood and slimy lumps onto the hard packed earth, which was already soaked in gore. The smell of human rot was getting hard to ignore. They stared back at her, lusting after her, terrified of her, glancing at the sky to make sure she wasn’t suddenly filling it with dark gray clouds again.

“Fuck me,” Kylo panted, drawing her attention away from them, back to him. “Do it.”

She reached forward and touched his asshole half-heartedly, looking at his cock forlornly. It wasn’t the same. She’d ruined it.

“No!” he growled, neck still at that awkward angle, pounding the platform with his fist. “Fuck me like I fucked you.”

She remembered the altar, him ramming into her, trapping her on all fours underneath his men, fucking her in the ass in front of everybody, exactly where he knew she didn’t want to be fucked, reenacting one of the most awful parts of an awful childhood for everyone to see, taking on the role of her abuser, and of his own abuser. Raping both of them again through her body.

“Kylo.” His eyes snapped to hers. She’d never called him by his chosen name before. “I don’t need to rape you.” She paused. “I don’t need to have power over you.”

His eyes looked wet as his gaze flickered between her and the thin clouds drifting overhead, looking for the same thing as the soldiers.

“I don’t have to fucking touch you.” The ice in her voice was cutting.

“I know.” 

“No, you don’t.” Rey flipped the blade so that she held it by the handle again. It smelled like ass and dried spit and fresh blood. She raised the dagger to the sky.

He shook but didn’t flinch as he stared up at her, fists balled at his sides, waiting for her to swoop down with the blade and dig and twist. Waiting for her to get even.

The only human sounds in the arena were those the two of them were making. Everyone else was silently watching, or dead and decaying. Even the wind was quiet, listening to the birds chirping their warnings, listening to the whoosh of the dagger as Rey drove it down and stabbed it into the dirt beside his head.

Kylo breathed a sigh of despair, disappointed.

“You don’t have to keep doing what’s been done to you,” she said.

She remembered the gurney, her lying there in his laboratory, pretending to be asleep as he touched her, just like she used to at Unkar’s. She remembered the cold gel and his cold gloved fingers, him screaming that nobody wanted her, that they’d sent her away, that she didn’t exist. She remembered Ben, who’d had to die, who had to keep dying, so Kylo could go on.

She placed her hands on his raised knees and squeezed. She wanted to open her arms to him, but she didn’t know how.

“Kylo,” she murmured. “Come here.” How long had it been since someone had said that to either of them in kindness? The last time she said it to him, she’d tried to stab him with a screwdriver.

He sat up immediately, leaning back on his hands and stretching his long legs out on either side of her. When she didn’t stop him, he brought his thick arms around her waist, drawing her against his chest, running his hands up her bare back and down to her ass, cupping her, dragging her into his lap almost as soon as he’d touched her. “Rey.” His breath was hot on her forehead. He crossed his legs around her, keeping her in. “Rey.” He sucked and licked greedily up her throat and behind her ear as he pulled her sopping cunt over his fat cock, nudging himself inside her just far enough to feel her wetness.

She tilted her face up to the clear sky, letting herself enjoy the warmth of the sun. The pile of the dead’s armor and shoes and equipment loomed behind them, glinting in the light, stinking and grim and going to waste. Their soldiers could use those things. They shouldn’t be discarded. Rey was going to have a talk with him about that. But not now. She leaned in and kissed him on his needy lips, sliding her own down slowly on his cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No research to share for this chapter. I'm pouring all of that into the following chapters. If you want to learn more about the zithers used during the Unholy Union, and hear what they sounded like, go take a look at the comments on Ch. 9, where I left a lengthy response about this. And feel free to ask me questions about anything in the fic! I'm an obsessive maniac who dives way too deep into every aspect I can. 
> 
> We’re transitioning now into the third part of the story, which will tie everything together. The sex magick cult stuff used to be my favorite part of the fic, but the third act might actually be my favorite, now that it's coming together. I'd like to have Chapter 13 posted by next weekend, but it might not be until sometime during the week after that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: exhibitionism, degradation, orgasm denial, fingerbang
> 
> Ch. 13: In Which the Monsters Are Set Loose on Society
> 
> Scroll down to the last paragraph of the End Notes to see pictures of the clothing the characters wear. And here's the picture of [Marlene Dietrich](https://theadventurine.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/830.jpg) that Rey sees. 
> 
> Chapter vibes:  
> [Tom Petty, “Yer So Bad”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdRViFCvvUo)

Rey tugged the hem of her skirt over her knees and watched the broad green valley, dotted with red-roofed, white-walled farms and villages, begin to roll past her window. The sun was nearing the juncture of the mountain slopes, making the sky glow red behind purple-gray clouds. It reminded her of a previous life, making breakfast over the morning fire in the abandoned tunnel, red coals smoldering beneath last night’s ashes. August sunsets in the Black Forest were typically softer than this, slower and more pastel, but it was an unusually harsh and muggy summer. As they pulled away from _Himmelreich_ station and into the _Höllental_ , the Valley of Hell, the sky disappeared and the gorge closed in around them, steep rugged rock on one side, tall knotted pines on the other.

The train car was full but not packed, mainly with men of working age. Their faces were hidden behind newspapers, dark hats peeking over the page. There were a few mothers, tutting over the heads of their children, fussing over them in their little suits, and married couples with their bodies turned towards each other but their faces pointed out the window. Several old men were squeezed into the pair of seats behind Rey, playing cards and puffing pipes and gossiping about village politics. She’d pulled down the heavy glass window to let in fresh air, but the smell of tobacco smoke and sweat and body odor still wrapped around her. She wanted to sit with her back against the wall, where she could see the whole car, but a group of old women was taking up all the corner benches, facing backwards, beady eyes on everyone. They wore long, homemade floral dresses and they grumbled constantly, even when they laughed, their aged hands fluttering from their mouths to their laps to their friends’ shoulders.

In her squatting days she'd always loved to hear the chuffing of the steam locomotive blowing by. It was the sound of people getting away, proof that other worlds existed. But she could barely hear it now because the whole fucking passenger car was made of steel, with no carpeting or upholstery to dampen the noise as it rattled atop the wheels that screeched along the tracks. They called them _Donnerbüchsen_ , thunder boxes. The riveted metal interior, painted a cream color, was stained with smoke and flecked with grime and soot, though she could smell the ammonia they used to clean it. Some stains never disappeared; they became part of the thing. Plain wooden benches sat in pairs facing one another, beneath white porcelain lamps shaped like bells bolted into the ceiling. It was getting late, but not late enough to light them.

A few rows in front of her sat a teenaged girl in a red cloche hat, blonde, with nothing to worry about. She was reading a verboten tabloid full of Hollywood starlets that she’d tucked inside an issue of the state-approved women’s magazine. When she turned the page Marlene Dietrich glared back at Rey, striding down the docks of Paris dressed in men’s clothes, dominating the crowd of men around her. She could dress like that because she’d left Germany, left her people behind.

Rey did not have that luxury, not in public, not these days. She had to settle for clothing that was menswear-inspired. This evening she wore a feminine traveling suit of dark gray linen, with a lighter gray blouse and gloves, and a dark gray skirt that was supposed to fall just below her knees. It kept riding up. They could stop her for that. She was tempted to see what would happen if they did, but she didn’t have the fucking time to kill. Her accessories were all dark blue, from her leather handbag to her straw fedora to her perforated Oxford heels.

She was idly listening to the chatter, catching up on what was going on across the valleys, when suddenly the world fell into darkness. They had entered a tunnel through the mountainside. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see. She felt her body being pulled to the right, into the window frame, by the momentum of the train curving along the track. The other passengers kept talking and the steel car kept rattling, but everything sounded hushed somehow, as if the noise were afraid of revealing something to the gloom, or disrespecting it.

Just as her eyes were adjusting to the darkness and beginning to discern silhouettes, the train emerged back into the world and her vision was overwhelmed all over again. She shoved herself away from the window, blinking against the light slanting into her eyes until a shadow fell over her. A very tall, very dark, and almost handsome man was standing in the aisle, staring down at her from beneath his hat brim with a hungry frenzy in his eyes. He must have gotten on after her; she’d been riding since the start of the line. He wore a black and white oversized-houndstooth jacket, black full-cut trousers that went on for days, a black necktie, and a white-banded black Panama hat. His absurdly large hand was gripping her seatback so hard that she could hear the leather of his black gloves creaking against the wood.

Then she was plunged into darkness again, as they entered another tunnel through another mountain. She felt herself being thrown against the window and then pulled in the opposite direction by the tracks switchbacking in the dark. The outside of her left knee rubbed against something hot and hard.

Suddenly it was bright and Rey was blinking again, they were back in the forest, and the dark man was sitting on the bench facing her, pressing his knee indecently into hers. He leaned forward, toward her, dipping his head to look into her eyes as he slowly removed one of his gloves. His thick black hair, falling in soft waves around his face, was much longer than was appropriate these days. Effeminate, even. They could stop him for that, though the rest of him was solidly masculine. Except his lips.

The world went black again. Another tunnel. She felt his rough hand smooth her skirt over her knee, fixing it, making it decent, then reaching up inside her thighs, thick fingers dragging along the silk of her stockings. He lingered at the top, where they rolled down a little, fingering the supple material and the thin metal clips that held it in place, teasing her, daring her to stop him.

She closed her eyes, but it didn’t change anything.

Finally he touched her skin, dipping underneath the glossy suspender that kept her stockings up, running his hand beneath the strap until he reached the very top of her thigh, skimming and squeezing. His fingers were so hot they made her skin feel cold, despite the August swelter. She gasped, loud in the dark. The old men behind them quieted.

They thundered back into the light. She could feel it on her face and throat, her only uncovered skin. The air was different, closer.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and heated. “Look at what you’re letting me do to you.”

She opened her eyes. Her head was thrown back like a wanton, her hat brushing against those of the men behind her. Together they watched the outline of his hand moving beneath her linen skirt, the bumps of his knuckles disappearing and reappearing as he kneaded her flesh, creeping toward the secret place inside her.

“You like it,” he told her.

Rey shook her head and tried to breathe. She couldn’t look away.

“You fucking like it,” he growled, digging into her harder.

The steam whistle blew and her head snapped up. It sounded like a scream, high-pitched and frantic. The fluffy oak trees waving outside the window fell away, revealing lush undulating fields, earth-toned houses nestled into the soft folds of the hills, and in the distance harsh spiky forests climbing over mountain after mountain. A pedestrian bridge of white cast iron approached overhead. _Hirschsprung Station_ , the neatly lettered signs read.

Their polished brown benches were high-backed. No one could see his hand beneath her skirt unless they were standing in the aisle, which people were now doing as they prepared to disembark.

He pursed his lips and smiled at her like a wolf, crossing one leg over his knee and letting his elbow fall beside it, sitting up straight but continuing to play with her, jiggling his black and white spectator shoes. Right at the moment that the first passenger passed them, he pushed his fingers under the ungathered hem of her panties, prying into the crease of her skin.

Shakily she unfolded her newspaper, covering her lap from view, trying to compose herself.

He kept going, his dark, crazed eyes watching Rey over the edge of the page, watching her bite her lip and furrow her brow.

“von Hindenburg is Dead! Fatherland Mourns!” the headline proclaimed. “The Reich Chancellor takes over the powers of the Reich President.” In the silence of the unmoving train she could hear how loud and unsteady her breath was.

_Hirschsprung_ was a small village, despite the size of the station. Only a few people got off and none got on. The whistle shrieked and the locomotive pulled away, clattering and clacking. The forest pressed in again, all pines and firs now, the understory dark and ominous between the knotted trunks that blotted out the blood-red sunset. His fingers were brushing over her hip bone, making their way to her mons. She didn’t stop him.

“Put the newspaper down.”

She let it fall over her lap.

“Look up. No,” he dug his fingers into her, “not at me.”

She looked around, biting her tongue, wanting him to move his hand farther down, knowing he would, wishing he wouldn’t.

“Tell me what they’re doing.”

“Who?” Her voice sounded breathy, greedy.

He was tracing circles just above her mound with the pad of his finger. So close. “The first man who looks back at you.”

Rey’s eyes wandered across the car. “They’re all—” She gulped as his finger brushed her clit, just for the briefest moment. “They’re all reading the newspaper.”

“No they’re not. Not really.” His voice dropped impossibly low as he circled her clit, pushing, but not hard enough. “They know what you want me to do to you, don’t they?”

She shook her head.

“They can smell you.”

“No,” she whispered.

“They will.”

Over her head a man cleared his throat. She looked up to see a middle-aged conductor scowling down at her from beneath his bright red hat. She scowled back.

“Sir.” He turned to the man whose hand was buried in her panties beneath the paper. “Are you bothering this lady?”

“Doctor. Not Sir.” He was stroking open the seam of her lips, squeezing them, petting them.

The conductor fingered the leather shoulder strap of his bag. “Doctor. My apologies.”

He nodded dismissively. He was almost inside her. He should be inside her. Her labia pouted as he spread her wetness around her inner folds, rubbing just almost hard enough. The newspaper shook in her hands.

Still the conductor stood there, frowning. “The lady doesn’t seem to want to talk to you, Doctor.”

“She wants it.” He was so close, tracing the tip of his finger around her entrance, opening her but not letting himself in. “Ask her.”

“Miss, do you want his attentions?”

She was so wet that when he abruptly slid two fingers deep inside her, they sunk like anchors.

“Ohhh,” Rey moaned, against her will. The seats all around them fell silent. Even the slap of the old men’s cards against the benches behind her stopped. The conductor squinted down at her. “Oh,” she said again, trying to turn it into a laugh. “Umm.”

His long thick fingers slid out and back in, out and back in, swirling around and around and around. Faces were peering at her over newspapers.

“Are you in trouble, Miss?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” This time she really did laugh. “Don’t worry about me! The doctor prefers dead girls. I’m safe.” But she was laughing too hard. Bursting open inside, everywhere. Kylo glowered at her beneath his brim as he punished her with his fingers. She spread her legs for him beneath the paper, stretching the fabric of her skirt.

The conductor gazed down at her in utter confusion. He’d clearly never seen sexual pleasure on a woman’s face before. She laughed harder, out of control.

The car fell into darkness again. Another tunnel. Rey licked her lips and let her head fall back, rolling her hips against his hand, feeling the cold mountain air wash over her sweaty skin. She heard the conductor walk away, maybe.

She dropped the newspaper and clutched his knee. More. He thrust a third finger into her and she sighed, deep, like someone had stabbed her. She felt so full. Rey rocked on his hand, knowing he was right, they could smell her, they knew exactly what she wanted. But she didn’t care who tried to stand in her way, she was going to fucking get hers. Her head fell forward, loosening her hat pins and disheveling her hair, as she tried to focus on the orgasm taking over inside her.

“Not a sound,” he snarled in her ear. “And don’t you dare come. Not here. Not in front of all these people.”

She whimpered as he fucked her even harder with his hand.

“You fucking whore. In front of a bunch of old people? In front of children?”

She shook her head as she humped his fingers, moaning again. Her palm left his knee and drifted between her legs, draping over his hand, feeling the strain and the strength of his thrusts. So big. So determined. Unstoppable.

“We’ll be back in the light any second,” he hissed. “Everyone will see what you are.”

“What am I,” she panted.

“My child. My whore.” He rubbed the roof of her pussy, finding the spot she liked.

Her eyes rolled back. “No,” she moaned. “Say it.”

“Monster.”

“Maker,” she whined, high-pitched, thrumming up from deep inside.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare come in front of all these people.” His mouth was on her ear, sucking her hot flesh between his darkly whispered words.

They’d be out in the light soon. She had to. She had to.

“You don’t deserve to come,” he spat, biting her earlobe, tearing into her, “and you know it. You don’t fucking deserve to come.”

“I don’t, I don’t.” She split open, clenching around him, squeezing her legs shut around his arm pumping into her, the spasms of her cunt driving him out of her as she cried for him.

Rey thought her eyes were closed until fading light flooded over her, bathing everyone in the train car crimson. The silent woods and crags watched them through the windows. The steel box was thundering, the wheels were squeaking, the engine was puffing, but the people were quiet. The conductor was nowhere to be seen. Everyone was looking everywhere except at Rey and Kylo. Even the watchful old ladies in the corner looked pointedly away.

Kylo was as smug as ever, sucking on his fingers. “I told you to sit in first class,” he leered. “More private.”

“You can’t tell me shit.” She was still catching her breath.

“Sometimes I can.” He half-smiled as he pulled his black leather glove back on and flexed his fingers, squaring his shoulders in his houndstooth jacket.

She pumped her hips a few more times, lazily, luxuriating in the afterglow, hoping her slip would absorb anything that might stain her skirt. After smoothing it back over her knees with a sigh, she reached up to rearrange her hair and pin her hat back into place. Kylo handed her his handkerchief to mop up her sweat, then picked the paper up off the floor, frowning as he read about the death of von Hindenburg and the rise of the Chancellor.

“Just like you said,” he muttered. “He’s never going to stop. He’ll take everything if we let him.”

Rey’s ears popped as she shushed him. He knew better than to talk about that here. She gazed out the window. The train was slowing down but pushing harder, twisting and turning as they clawed up the Valley of Hell. This was the most difficult part of the journey. She could feel in her belly how steep the climb was, how fast they were rising in elevation, how far they had to go. Something behind them was propelling them forward. The second engine, the pusher locomotive at the back of the train, was chugging into gear, shoving them up the mountain while the front engine pulled them. Their steam whistles squealed back and forth in a series of long and short bursts, as if they were speaking in code, crying out through the forest of feather-leafed beech trees in the dying light. Night was about to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience as these chapters continue to take me longer than anticipated. FYI there are two other fics that I want to post chapters of before I update FMH. So your patience is still needed. But I promise it will be worth the wait. 
> 
> von Hindenburg was President of Germany and died on Thurs., Aug. 2, 1934. Recall that the last chapter took place in late autumn, so almost eight months have passed. The headlines in this chapter are a combination I culled from [this English](https://s.hdnux.com/photos/50/17/30/10548786/5/940x0.jpg) and [this German](https://c8.alamy.com/comp/E5GJAK/1934-vlkischer-beobachter-germany-death-of-german-president-generald-E5GJAK.jpg) newspaper.
> 
> The [_Höllental_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%B6llental_\(Black_Forest\)), the Valley of Hell, is a real place in the Black Forest, as are all of the locations mentioned. [Black Forest houses](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Forest_house) are beautiful and unique, and they vary from village to village. Some parts of the _Höllental_ are [soft and forested](https://www.hofgut-sternen.de/\(cms\)/media/resize/size=1260x525,scale=crop/1065604), other parts are [harsh and rocky](https://lgrbwissen.lgrb-bw.de/sites/default/files/public/styles/colorbox/public/lgrbwissen/fotos/lgrb_foto_stuerzen_hirschsprung-01.jpg?itok=SVjaiv-L). You can see how dramatically the train tunnels cut through the mountainside in that last photo. The name of _Himmelreich_ station, where the chapter starts, means Heaven. A perfect place from which to begin our descent into Hell. The town looks [like this](https://www.freiburg-schwarzwald.de/fotos07juni/woelflesberg5-070622.jpg). Here are pictures of the _Hirschsprung_ (which means deer leap) [station](https://static.arkivi.de/thumb/870000/arkivi_872399.jpg) and [tunnel](http://suedbadenbahn.de/_Hoellentalbahn_Zahnrad/x9021.jpg). 
> 
> The train line that Rey and Kylo are riding is called the [_Höllentalbahn_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%B6llentalbahn_\(Black_Forest\)), and the section they're riding is still one of the steepest in Germany. [Here is a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfHQEaAUw44&feature=emb_logo) looking out the window of that train today, taking you through the tunnels. [Here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donnerb%C3%BCchse) is a page about _Donnerbüchsen_ , the thunder boxes. Check out [this photo ](https://lok-magazin.de/leseprobe/die-hoellentalbahn#&gid=1&pid=2) of the front and rear steam engines powering the train up the Ravenna Viaduct, which we'll cross next chapter. 
> 
> Rey's just jealous of Marlene Dietrich. She was a cross-dressing bisexual—in the 19fucking30s—who had the guts to say no to Hitler. She strode onto the docks in that suit after the Paris chief of police forbade her from entering the city if she was wearing men's clothes. Here is a really good, brief [article](https://theadventurine.com/culture/celebrity/the-bracelet-marlene-dietrich-received-for-her-defiance/) about it. 
> 
> Clothes:  
> That girl's [cloche hat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloche_hat). Rey's [traveling suit](https://musenblaetter.de/userimages/Image/glanz_und_grauen_stadtbummel_300.jpg) (the colors are different, but the cut is the same). Her [blue shoes](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/27/47/ff/2747fff08082ad9443fd6b257752f81b.jpg) and her [hat](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iIzzukr14Y8/T7qK9nGIuLI/AAAAAAAAAVw/NLP3mQCQvEA/s640/1930s3.jpg), which is actually not a fedora but a fedora-inspired sport hat. Kylo's [spectator shoes](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0f/33/90/0f33908ba1b2790c70498433cecf4985.jpg). His [oversized-houndstooth jacket](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/55/0a/b3/550ab36bf94d9fa5289fc81435f0fdbc.jpg) (on the left). All the trousers there are full-cut. Kylo wears a [classic Panama hat](https://www.magnoliapanama.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/Gregory-Peck-using-an-Optimo-Panama-Hat.jpg) with the colors reversed (Yes, that's Gregory Peck). The [conductor's uniform](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deutsche_Reichsbahn#/media/File:Bundesarchiv_Bild_102-01342,_Deutsche_Reichsbahn,_Zugf%C3%BChrer.jpg).


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